Dusk to Daybreak
by TamariChan
Summary: Lerant is daybreak and Lianne is dusk, and somehow they'll find their way through the dark. Lerant/Lianne II. Off of hiatus!
1. Dusk to Daybreak

**Disclaimer: The world and characters of Tortall belong to Tamora Pierce, not to me.  
Edited and reposted 8/25/2012, to correct a few grammar errors.**

The late evening sun glints through the base of the Royal Forest, and two people stand by the gates to the city. A crowd of people on horseback spreads behind them (and the growing darkness obscures faces, obscures clothing, obscures everything).

The woman squeezes the man's hand, and they enter Corus.

That is how the story ends.

This is how it begins.

-:-

He is daybreak, a young man emerging from the gloom of a traitor's legacy. He is resentful, but loyal (to the Crown in general and Raoul in particular)- he is not his aunt, and he wishes more people could see that.

He is a soldier, isn't he, and a noble, and he deserves at least that much respect. He wishes people did not judge him by his family (Delia was a traitor, but he is not).

She is dusk, a young woman pulling apart from her family and falling into the blackness of uncertainty. She knows her duty, oh her duty (of course she does, of course, she's been told all her life, and she's not Kalasin, to have her own dreams), but sometimes she imagines she is someone else, somewhere else, anything.

She wishes people did not judge her by her family. Her father wanted to be king, but she never asked to be a princess.

They are not so different- they are not night and day- they are sunrise and sunset, they are Lerant and Lianne.

He knows of her, obviously, everyone knows the Contés (they are the royal family, after all), and he has seen her (during parades and at balls and all those noble gatherings he is snubbed during), but he has never talked to her. Most of the time he spent at court was before he joined the Own at eighteen, and she was just a child then, another black-haired royal child to be fawned over, fussed over, coddled, indulged.

She knows of him only distantly- a mention or two by Roald's friend Keladry of Mindelan (you know the one, the one Kally was feverishly jealous of, the one who became a knight) of the standard-bearer when Kel was Uncle Raoul's squire.

Although Kel says that they didn't get along, she speaks well of him. He is bitterbitterbitter, she says, but he has a right to be.

-:-

It is entirely (mostly) chance when they meet. Third Company is back in Corus for Midwinter and Raoul gives them some time off. It is 462, over a year since Mindelan rescued the refugees and became the "Protector of the Small".

He is still the standard-bearer, and has not been promoted in the Own (although he fights just as well as Sergeant Dom, he is not a leader) and this does not grant him any more respect. He is an Eldorne (hatedtraitorlockedaway) and twenty-three years has not been kind to people's memories.

He has gone down to the Jugged Hare for ale. Many nobles turn their noses up at pubs in the city, with the commoners, but he likes the anonymity, where he can drown in drink in peace. He is sitting at a table (not exactly alone- his self-pity takes up two chairs on its own) when the door opens.

This is not unusual, for it is supper-hour, and the pub is crowded, but the woman who walks in has a nervous gait- looking around as if she shouldn't be there. Her eyes lock on his (his plain brown eyes under plain blond-brown bangs) and she walks over to him, alone-but-not-alone with his ale.

"You don't mind, do you?" She gestures to a chair and he shrugs, taking another swig of drink and looking at her. She is dressed simply but in cloth that does not belong here in a common tavern, and her hair, although unadorned by noblewoman standards, with no pearlsdiamondsgems, is styled much too carefully for her to be a commoner.

"Sorry." She takes a seat, sweeping her skirts in front of her in a way that would immediately discount her as a peasant, if he didn't already know she couldn't be. "I'm kind of-" she hesitates, her sapphire eyes flickering up and down his body in breeches and tunic, judging him (he squirms slightly).

"Kind of hiding from someone." She laughs nervously and smooths her skirts, and he wonders vaguely who she is. There is a pause, and she is looking at him with those searching sapphire eyes, and oh he's supposed to say something here, isn't he?

"You want a drink?" he says, and her eyebrows go up under her black hair- was that the wrong thing to say? He doesn't talk to women, much- but "Yes, sure," she replies, and flags down the bartender. He gives her a strange look (women who look like her don't come in the pub often) but brings her an ale.

There is a silence, and it is a little awkward but not too bad, and he notices (rather detachedly, he is getting a little tipsy) that she is a very ladylike drinker, all sips and delicate fingers.

"Who are you hiding from?" he asks, and she glances up- maybe that was too personal? Is she going to leave?

But she just sighs and looks away.

"My family," she says, "they-they are very protective of me."

"Oh." He wishes he knew what to say (Dom would know, he thinks, Dom is good with the ladies, but Dom is happily dating Mindelan and isn't even at the pub anyway). "Sorry."

"That's okay," she says, "that's okay. It's selfish, really, isn't it? All they want to do is protect me- I mean, everyone else here has bigger problems, I bet, but here I am feeling sorry for myself."

He is a little taken aback, but her words are true enough, lots of people have it much worse off than her (and him, for that matter). And now he feels guilty, Mithros curse it, for being so depressed.

"Everyone feels sorry for themselves sometimes," he tells her, taking another drink. "I do, I know. Even though my family wouldn't give a copper bit what happens to me."

There is only a little liquid left now, and it is getting late, and he should probably head home soon (not homehome, but where he stays in the palace, much to everyone's disgust- he is an Eldorne, doesn't he know he's not welcome?). But he doesn't want to leave this interesting girl with the dark hair and true words, even if she makes him feel guilty. So they sit in silence for a while, and it's not too awkward.

-:-

"I should go, they'll be wondering where I am," she says around dusk, when the sky darkens and those with respectable business start to leave the streets (the city is dangerous for those unprepared for it) but maybe she doesn't want to go.

Maybe she wants to stay and talk to the young man with the snub nose and haunted eyes (she wonders if he is in the army, with those eyes, the ones she sees on Aunt Alanna and her brothers and her own father, those eyes that have seen things nobody should see). So she doesn't make a move to get up, and they sit.

She has never been to a tavern on her own before, and she's so glad to have a companion- although maybe that defeats the purpose of taking time alone to clear her head- albeit a quiet, slightly sulky one.

He hasn't asked who she is, and she is so very grateful. It has been so nice (so nicenicenice) to be herself for a while, which sounds ridiculous, because she is always herself. But it is amazing and exhilarating and breathtakingly _amazing_ to just be Lianne (not Princess Lianne, Her Royal Highness, the middle princess, the one that will have to be married off soon).

She hasn't asked him who he is either, although she guesses he is a commoner (he is dressed plainly, after all, and he is in this pub- but so is she, and he doesn't act like commoners usually do, base and a little bit crude).

She finds herself wishing futilely she could get to know this young man better. It would be nice (so nicenicenice) to have a friend who could speak to her (Lianne), look at her (Lianne), see her (Lianne) and not see a princess. She doesn't want to be a princess, sometimes. She wants to be herself.

But she knows as well as anyone that a princess could not, could definitely not, have a friend like that. Rumors start as quickly as wildfire after all, and no one would have her (none of those stuffy old foreign kings and princes and dukes) if they didn't believe in her virtue. Her parents apologize (we're so sorry, Lianne, but you are a princess, and duty-)

And duty always comes first, her duty to the people and the crown. It's not like she could fall in love, anyway, because she is perfectmodestpolitedutiful Lianne, and that's not like her. Kally was the one with dreams, and see how that ended. Vania is the one who flirts, for all she knows it's not serious, can never be serious, and for all she's only sixteen. Lianne is just Lianne, the perfectmodestpolitedutiful princess, who always does what she's told.

So she doesn't go, and he doesn't go, and they sit for a while longer and don't talk much except to say "Want another drink?" or "It's getting late", but they're not alone.

-:-

Eventually it is very late, late even for a single young man out at a tavern, and he exhales sharply and stands. She looks at him, her mouth twisted wryly as he offers her his hand and she stands (not-so-gracefully, since she doesn't usually drink so much).

"Do you need a walk home?" he asks her, and he doesn't mean to be forward, he is worried about a young woman in Corus (not the best part of the city, either) and luckily she doesn't take it that way, and smiles, and her eyes crinkle.

"No, I'll be alright," she answers (although he doesn't know it, she can take care of herself- Uncle George made sure of it, just in case) and he nods slowly. He holds open the door for her and they stand out in the dark for a moment.

It is cold but there is no snow, just mud, and there are no stars shining overhead because it is a cloudy night, and it is not a romantic setting at all, and he doesn't even know who she is, just that she has an overprotective family and is probably rich and has sapphire eyes that crinkle when she smiles.

But something comes over him and he leans toward her (what are you doing, Lerant? stopstopstopstopnow) and her eyes widen and he feels her eyelashes brush his face just before their lips touch.

She pulls away after a moment and he swallows suddenly and steps back.

"Oh," she manages, and he doesn't need her apology, he knows what she'll say, he's been rejected enough, he turns to go-

"Wait," she says, and he freezes, and then her cold hand touches his arm. He looks at her.

"I'm Lia." She smiles at him again with those crinkly eyes.

"I'm Lerant," he says. "Uh." And there is another silence, and this one is more awkward than the others.

"Can I see you again?" he asks, which sounds silly even to him, but she agrees immediately.

They make plans to meet next week, and she leaves him with a wistful glance and walks away.

Toward the palace where he has to go. He does not want to deal with the awkwardness of walking with her when he already said good-bye, so he just stands in the cold for a moment.

As far as he can tell, she is still heading in that direction, although it is very dark, so he could be wrong (Where does she live? Is she a noblewoman staying at the palace? Or was he wrong and she is just a rich merchant's daughter?). So he sighs and goes back into the pub, which is open all night long during Midwinter.

"Another drink," he tells the bartender, and goes back to the table.

He is alone when the sun rises and the day breaks.


	2. Kicked You Around

**Disclaimer: The world and characters of Tortall belong to Tamora Pierce, not to me.  
Edited and reposted 10/22/2012.**

-:-

'Oh baby, we ain't the first  
I'm sure a lot of other lovers been cursed'  
–Refugee, Melissa Etheridge (Tom Petty)

-:-

Angry is an understatement.

Her parents are furiousfumingenragedlivid with her (Where have you been, what were you thinking, oh Lianne, you could have been killed or kidnapped, you are a princess, or did you forget? As if she possibly could) but she doesn't care, much. She keeps her mouth shut.

Lianne wanders the palace in a daze, a haze, her feet absentmindedly carrying her to meals, to bed, to the practice courts. Any daughter of Thayet and Jon's must know how to shoot a bow and wield a sword at least decently, though Kally was so much better at it, at everything, really. Kally with her determined chin and challenging eyes and her dreams. Lianne wonders if it is worth it to have dreams, since they don't come true (maybe for people like Alanna, but not for a princess whose first duty will always be to her country).

Roald notices that something is wrong (or right?) with Lianne, but he is busy with his pregnant wife, Princess Shinkokami, who will give birth to the heir to the throne (and don't forget Lianne, the throne will always be the most important thing in your life and everyone else's, never mind that you are the middle princess and you are useless to it). He doesn't have much time even for Lianne, who of all his siblings he is closest to. They are the most similar, Roald and Lianne, with soft voices and logical heads and polite tongues, always thinking of their duty Lianne wonders if Roald ever had dreams, if he really wanted to be a knight, but it doesn't matter because it doesn't matter what they want, remember dutydutyduty.

So Lianne wanders, and wonders, and a week passes quickly. The Midwinter celebrations are coming up soon, but that is nothing compared with seeing Lerant again. There's no way she'll be allowed out again but she grew up with Aly, by the Goddess, and she will find a way.

She does, early on the day they are to meet. Lianne's Gift is trained, although it isn't very strong at most things (healing is what she's best at, but she rarely has a chance to use it when she's not with the Riders). It is a huge effort to cloak herself in illusion to leave, but she pulls it off (staying far, far away from the mage-infested areas of the palace) and slips into the city. Once she's there, she's just another woman out bartering for bread, in a plain wool gown and a hood over her dark hair.

She realizes around Unicorn District that he never said where or when she was to meet him. The Jugged Hare is as good a place to wait as any (oh Lianne, you never think ahead, stupidstupidstupid) so she leans casually against the pub and tries to blend in.

-:-

Lerant has no idea what he is thinking. Meeting a woman he barely knows at a time and place he has no clue of? He is never like this, he never does things like this, but he's stuck and he doesn't mind all that much. He goes down to the pub where they met a few hours after dawn to wait for her (but he reminds himself not to drink, what kind of an impression does it make to show up to meet a woman drunk? Never mind how they met) and he sees her.

She sticks out like a lame horse and he has to fight laughter at the sight of her trying to fit in with passerby, awkwardly leaning against a wall. She's dressed well enough, much more plainly than last he saw her, but something about her screams that she does not belong here in the dust and clamor of the city. She carries herself like someone who knows her place in the world, and it is not here.

He wonders how he can see all these things in the woman he has only met once, but there isn't time to ponder because she sees him and (inexplicably) her whole face lights up. He is taken aback (no one has been happy to see him for a longlonglong time).

"Good morning!" she says, and smiles at him.

"Morning," he says, "Er, you're here early, Lia."

She snorts (very unladylike, but it doesn't bother him) and quirks her eyebrows at him. "You're here too, aren't you?"

He flushes and she shakes her head with her smile still intact. "Oh Lerant," she sighs, and pats his shoulder (pats him, like he's a dog!) but he can't muster up indignation at her with her wide sapphire eyes and her smile.

There is a pause and he's not quite sure what to say. Agreeing to meet is one thing but he didn't think about what they'd do, but luckily she did.

"There are lovely gardens in Prettybone District, even through the winter," she tells him, and he's surprised that she knows so much about Corus (he has decided that she must be a noblewoman, albeit one with strange habits). "Care to go for a walk…?" she trails off, looking at his face. Oh right, he should respond. That's what people do.

"That sounds wonderful," he says, trying to regain his composure but keep his bitterness buried. Something about her throws him off, like a tree branch in the trail, but it's not bad, necessarily.

They walk and idly chat about the weather, about the traffic in Corus, about the upcoming Midwinter celebrations in the city (he doesn't mention that he'll be attending the palace ball, as a nobleman, and she makes no comment about her own plans) and when they arrive at the public gardens, one of King Jonathan's renovations to the city, he is relatively comfortable.

-:-

The gardens are beautiful, even in winter, and Lianne admires the view as she sneaks glances at the man walking beside her. She's still unsure of who exactly he is, but it doesn't matter because someone is listening to her (!). No, it's not anything important (her opinion on her father's new tax makes no difference either way- princess she may be, but an influence she is not) but someone cares what Lianne thinks, and he doesn't even know she's perfectpolitemodestdutiful princess Lianne, just that she is a person and that is enough.

Time passes differently when she talks to him and neither notices when midday passes. Day ends early during winter and the sky is darkening when Lianne feels at ease enough to ask him about his family.

He stiffens immediately. "We don't get along," he says, in a voice many degrees colder than before.

"Oh," she winces, "That's too bad." She feels awful for bringing up what is evidently a sore subject for him and doesn't know quite what to say (I told you that you don't know what you're doing, Lianne, you're such a fool). "My family and I get along okay, but I don't really like to talk about them either. People judge by family, you know? And I'm not my family, I'm me."

He gapes at her (oh Goddess, that was too much, he's going to give her a strange look and leave) but then he breaks into laughter (what is going on?).

"Oh, Lia," he gasps through chuckles, "Where have you been all my life?" and he looks up at her, and this is right.

They make plans to see each other again after Midwinter festivities are over – she argues but he reminds her that Midwinter is a time for family (at which she scowls and pushes his shoulder as he snorts). She knows this is a horrible idea and it can't end well (what is she doing, perfectpolitemodestdutiful princesses don't fall in love, they marry the Marenite or Gallan or Copper Islander nobleman that their father picks) but Lianne can't think of anything but the power rush from making her own decisions and the ringing in her head of dutydutydutyduty is easily ignored.

So she winds her way up to the castle after dusk falls, but he does not. He has someone else to see today.

-:-

"What?" Dom coughs, spraying his ale all over the table. Lerant gives him a disgusted look and wipes droplets off both of their tunics.

"You heard me," he says irritably. "I've fallen in love, and I'm not quite sure who she is."

"How can you not know her name? By Mithros, Lerant! That's the sort of thing I expect to hear from Wolset, not from you!" Dom sputters, his dark hair falling into his eyes in his tirade.

"I know her name!" Lerant protests. "It's Lia. I just don't know anything else about her background. I think she's a noble, though, she must be."

Dom shakes his head and puts his face in his hands. "Well, what do you expect me to do?"

"I don't know," Lerant says, "maybe just keep on the lookout for a noblewoman named Lia during the balls. Mithros knows you attract women just by breathing."

Dom snorts. "Thanks, Lerant, but can't you see Kel's face? 'Oh no, dear, I wasn't flirting with that woman, I was trying to find out her name so I can see if she's the one that Lerant's in love with.' Yeah, that would go over so well."

"Don't be so dramatic. You sound like your cousin-"

"You wound me!" Dom strikes a pose with his hand over his face like a noblewoman about to faint.

"She has black hair and blue eyes, if that helps. And she's beautiful, and her eyes crinkle when she smiles, and-"

"You've got it bad!" Dom bursts out laughing and falls over, out of his chair. Lerant flushes and kicks Dom in the back, not too gently.

"Ow! Now who's dramatic?"

"Shut up, Dom."

-:-


	3. Too Much to Forget

**Disclaimer: The world and characters of Tortall belong to Tamora Pierce, not to me.  
Edited and reposted 10/22/12.**

-:-

"And now you crossed that line  
You can't come back  
Tell me how does it feel now  
It's too late, too much to forget about  
Can't stop now  
Tell me how does it feel now?"

-Feel, Matchbox 20

-:-

Lianne is intelligent enough to know she is in way over her head already. She doesn't spend much time with people outside her family, usually – she has few friends, and she considers them family in all but blood (Alan and Aly of Pirate's Swoop, and Jaquetta of Naxen, for example) – and being around Lerant feels intoxicating. Freedom, it turns out, is extraordinarily addicting.

Is she using Lerant or does she genuinely like him? She's not quite sure. She'd like to think that she loves him- or at least has a romantic interest in him- but part of her says skeptically that she would feel like this around anyone who didn't know of her rank and treated her like an equal. She tells that part to keep quiet, before wondering, is she crazyinsanetotallydaft to be hearing voices in her head? She tells that voice to be quiet too.

She is not looking forward to Midwinter at all- there is nothing she wants, particularly, as a gift (except the gift of choice- in her friends and her words and her life in general, and that is something no one will award her).

Midwinter for her is just another occasion at which she has to smile&curtsey&dance, where she has to look and sound interested in what prejudiced nobles have to say, where she has to play the part of the perfectpolitemodestdutiful princess (that she is…right?). She's not absolutely sure of Lerant's background, but she has never seen him at court- so if he is a nobleman, which she doubts, he won't be at the festivities anyway.

So she spends her time alone during the time leading up to the first night until her mother snaps that she had best stop moping and get ready for the feast.

-:-

Domitan of Masbolle has had many missions (both professional and personal) during his life, but this one is the oddest he can remember (except maybe the time Third Company convinced him it was a good idea to steal the loincloths of Rider Group Eight and cover them in glitter – but that's another story).

Black hair, blue eyes, named Lia, he repeats to himself as he sits beside Keladry and looks furtively around. None of the ladies he recognizes fit that physical description (not that he recognizes them for any disreputable reasons, Kel dear, merely from conversations he's had, of course. He's not defensive or anything – why would he be? What are you suggesting?).

Lerant is there himself – Raoul made him go (You're part of the Own, Lerant, you deserve to take a break and have fun. Or else.) – though looking very disgruntled and listening halfheartedly to his grandfather grumble about those gods-cursed progressives. Dom can't help but snicker when Lerant's younger sister attempts to catch the attention of Prince Jasson and ends up with her wavy hair dipped in her soup. A questioning glance from Kel leaves him sober-faced again.

"So," she says, turning back to Meathead, "I said to the merchant, 'This is Yamani steel! It shouldn't be stored in such cold places, or it'll crack.' So he said…"

Oh well, Dom supposes. This conversation is too interesting to abandon right now. Lerant can find out the identity of his mystery girl on his own.

-:-

The feast is just as boring as Lianne suspected (she would know best, she has lived the life of a diplomat since she was born, after all- perfectpolitePrincessLianne). She smiles graciously and nods and counts down the hours- 1, 2, 3.

The food is good at least, she notes, as her eyes drift over the rows of nobles, dressed to impress. And she doesn't have to dance (though she will at the first ball- but that's in a few days, and she will deal with it then).

"Lianne!" she is startled out of her reverie by her brother Liam, who is glaring at her- he has obviously said her name several times. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course," she says smoothly. "You were just talking about your upcoming Ordeal." (She wasn't listening, of course, but that's all Liam has talked about for months- he begins his fast tomorrow.)

He scowls at her- she's right, but he is aggravated already. "What is wrong with you lately, Lianne? Your head's been in the clouds. You just ignored Ambassador Bernhard- you're lucky you didn't seriously offend him! It's not like you at all."

She bites her lip to keep from responding scathingly (is she not allowed to be have even a moment to herself- alone in her own mind without worrying what others think?) because she knows without saying that the answer is no- never- because one moment of rudeness would eclipse all her hours&hours&hours of forced politeness in people's minds.

And besides, one sharp word to Liam and he will explode, in public or no- he is the insolent, thoughtless one of the royal children (although if he was just another noble, he'd be considered fairly polite- a double standard- but he is not just anyone and no one said their lot was fair anyway, and they are royalty and so lucky and complaining would be ungrateful).

Vania is the same way, but she is younger and a girl and people are more likely to excuse her as simply temperamental. Roald and Lianne are composed, Kalasin is fiery (and far away in Carthak at any rate), and Jasson is the joker with a fine wit. Clashes are frequent, but alwaysalwaysalways in private.

"I am fine," she answers at last. "Thank you for your concern." He glares at her and she can tell she hasn't been let off completely- but thankfully he changes the subject, talking about some sort of conflict in the east, and she can daydream all she likes for the rest of the feast.

-:-

Lerant spends the banquet in irritated silence as his sister, Adrienn, prattles on about the handsome men of the court – she is sixteen and newly presented and overwhelmed by the sheer amount of males (and as it happens, the men in question are much more likely to accept a wide-eyed, innocent court beauty from a traitor family than a troubled young man from the same origins).

"And the one from King's Reach – oh Lerant, he's _so_ handsome. Such dark hair and eyes, and so good with a sword, like a mysterious knight in shining armor from ballads! And have you _seen_ Sir Merric of Hollyrose? Why, he has the nicest red hair…"

It may be understandable, but it is annoying and Lerant finds himself clenching his fists and biting his tongue. Thank Mithros, Margarry of Cavall (and it is shocking that they are sitting near someone from such a favored fief at all, even if it is only the smiling young blonde) changes the subject skillfully to the best kind of silk to make sashes from (and while he may not be interested in that either, at least it does not remind him that the word traitor is a burden that only he has to bear).

The feast is nearly over by the time the discussion is, encompassing corset styles, hairdos, and winding to commentary about the most musically inclined convent girls. Adrienn seems oblivious to Lerant's discomfort and boredom, although she sends him a quick glance when Margarry begins detailing how loyal her knightly beau, Owen of Jesslaw, is to the Crown. Perhaps she is not as naïve as he believes (maybe there's a reason for these innocent topics, maybe she has a motive), but he does not notice- he never does.

-:-

When the feast is ended, Lianne drifts away to her room. After bathing and preparing for the next day, she lies awake in the dark and time flows around her – it could be midnight now or just before daybreak. She is tired, but even if she could sleep, she doubts it would help.

Her brain hums uncomfortably. She doesn't want to think about Lerant (it's much too dangerous, don't get too attached, oh Lianne) but she does anyway. She thinks about his floppy hair and his half-smile and the way he caresses her face. The way he looks at her like other men look at her crown (like she is the ultimate prize, like she is worth something- just for herself).

Lianne has tolerated these men in the past – the men who look at her and see the Conté crest and nothing else – but she will not be able to any longer, she knows. Lerant has ruined (fixed?) her, and she cannot (will not) go back- she cannot (will not) forget this, and how she feels- she cannot (will not) stop now.

She has changed, for better or for worse (or maybe both), and she cannot (will not) go back. She cannot (will not) forget how she feels now (ohsofrightenedscaredterrifie d), and the crazy plans and thoughts and emotions she's had since. And this is like nothing she has ever known or done or been (and what will she do now, what will her family say, oh Lianne).

But she will not stop.

Maybe she doesn't know what she will do (she is thinking of crazy, crazy plans, like persuading Lerant to court her or being independent of all men or talking to her parents or her siblings or joining the Riders permanently, crazydafttotallyinsane), but she will find out what to do. A proper princess doesn't go into things unprepared, and this will be no different.

She will (has to) control a piece of her own life.

And a hint of rose-gold dawn peeks out from under her curtains, and it is her turn (Lianne's turn, just Lianne's) to be daybreak.

-:-


	4. What It Takes

**Disclaimer: The world and characters of Tortall belong to Tamora Pierce, not to me.  
Edited and reposted 10/22/12.**

"Yellow diamonds in the light  
And we're standing side by side  
As your shadow crosses mine  
What it takes to come alive…"

-We Found Love, Rihanna

-:-

Liam enters the Chamber of the Ordeal the morning of the third day. Lianne stands with her family in the chapel, quiet and docile, and lets out a relieved sigh when Liam leaves the Chamber alive – with bloody hands and dull eyes, but alive. She is mildly surprised (When did this happen?) when he stumbles right by her and their parents into the arms of a dazed Rose of Trebond.

Leaving her parents staring at the couple, she slips out of the chapel and walks slowly to her room. So Liam is allowed to love who he likes, because he's a boy, is that it? (Of course it is, oh Lianne, it's different for men, you know that.)

It's a waste of her time to dwell on it – the world isn't fair and that's that, and nothing Lianne can say will change anything.

She changes into a more lavish gown for the celebration and ball that will occur later, both for Midwinter and Liam's Ordeal. She opens her door to leave.

"Lianne!"

Her father and mother are standing in front of her. Her father's face is tense (This is how he looked when Kally – but she can't finish that thought.).

"Yes?" she says. Her parents exchange a glance and her father speaks.

"Lianne. We didn't want to bring this up when you were so worried about Liam, but we've-"

Thayet interrupts him. "We've found a good match for you. The crown prince of Maren. You're to be formally betrothed sometime this month."

A moment of silence (her ears are ringing, and oh gods, Maren's crown prince is the one at least forty years old) and Lianne finds her voice, and it is distant, cold, strange – not at all her own.

"You tell me this when you have already made your decision, and arrangements are already completed?"

It is her mother who answers. "What do you mean? You know we've been looking for a good marriage for you. It's your duty. We thought you understood that, and your sister-"

"Kally had a choice in who she married," Lianne says, in the voice that does not belong to her. "She could veto her matches, and she ended up with a nice, _young_ man."

"No, you remember, don't you? Kalasin got that choice because she gave up her dream for her duty, but you…" Jon trails off.

It is obvious what he means. (You didn't have dreams, Lianne dear, oh no, surely not. You are a perfectpolitemodestdutiful princess, and how could you have any desires but those of your country and your people?)

Lianne gets the message. "Oh, didn't I?" Her father opens his mouth, but Lianne continues.

"Don't you think I might have dreams too? That I might want to do something with my life other than marry, become a queen? No, duty comes first, and we all know that's what I'm for. Betroth me to whoever you want. After all, duty is duty, isn't it, and who needs a daughter?"

"Don't you talk to your father like that," Thayet says, faltering slightly.

Lianne bobs a curtsey. "Of course, your majesties," she says in a sickly sweet voice that is clearly mocking. "If you'll excuse me-"

She leaves them standing in her doorway, and she does not look back.

-:-

She considers looking for Lerant, but she does not know where to start, and wandering randomly around Corus would be unproductive and possibly dangerous. Even if she did find him, what would she say?

(Oh hello Lerant, I had a fight with my parents and I'm engaged now, to a prince, and someday I'll be queen of a country I've never even seen, and did I mention I'm a princess?)

Maybe she should leave. Run away, far away, where it doesn't matter that she is a princess, where she makes the decisions, right or wrong. But no, that's ridiculous. Where would she go? She would be likely to die in the wilderness or be murdered in some dark alley or get sick of peasant life and come home, especially without a plan or supplies or anything.

Instead, she goes to the stables (she doesn't give a second's thought to the intricate gown, a ride will clear her head and that is what she needs). Never mind that a clear head won't help her predicament anyway – she will still be betrothed and angry and soso scared (oh Lianne) but she does not think of that, for what is the point?

It is the middle of the day and it is not terribly cold and she enjoys the quiet for a while as she rides. Her horse, appropriately named Heiress, is a good one. Pretty enough for parades but hardy enough for fairly long rides in the woods and mild combat.

Heiress's ears prick forward and a few minutes later, she hears voices and reins in her horse, peering intently through the trees. The horse is calm, so the people are probably friendly (but would you be willing to bet your life on that, Lianne?).

She sees a flash of silver and blue on a very tall man with coal-black hair and screeches in a very unprincess-like manner. "Uncle Raoul!" she cries out, and he jumps (a very interesting sight, since he is mounted).

"Lianne?"

-:-

Third Company is riding right outside the city (Raoul has declared that they might as well get some fun in before the balls start in earnest). Lerant rolls his eyes as Wolset tells an elaborate tale involving a swooning lady and him as the dashing savior. It's a good story, but Wolset is known for embellishing tales so an ordinary day of riding becomes a saving-maiden-from-dragon account.

"Lianne?" His head snaps up. That was Raoul's voice, but their commander has disappeared around a corner. Wolset pauses and exchanges a baffled look with Lerant.

"What's going on?" Wolset asks, puzzled, but Lerant just shakes his head. They ride about the turn and Lerant takes in a sharp breath.

Raoul has stopped in the middle of the trail and much of the company is bunched around him. There is a woman on a horse facing him, and-

And-

The woman has long dark hair and a (much too) familiar face and-

And-

And he cannot think for a moment, because this is so out of place (something is wrongwrongwrong about this picture) but the little voice in his head doesn't care what he's feeling and informs him in a smart voice that he does, in fact, recognize this woman.

"Lia?" he blurts before he can shut his mouth, and both her head and Raoul's twist toward him and oh gods, he hopes this is a dream (but he knows it's not) and he's doomed.

-:-

_So he is a soldier after all._ The thought shoots into her mind as she meets his brown eyes. (Like it matters now, focus Lianne, Uncle Raoul's looking at you again).

"Lerant?" asks a disoriented Raoul. "What's going on?"

"Milord-"

"Nothing at all, Uncle Raoul," she says smoothly. "I know Lerant through his sister, Adrienn. A lovely girl, have you met her?"

Raoul gives her an incredulous look. She supposes her story isn't backed very well by Lerant's gaping mouth.

"Er, no," he says deliberately. "What are you doing out here, Lianne?"

Her eyes flicker to Lerant. "Going for a ride."

"Without an escort? It's much too dangerous for a princess-"

So this is how it ends, she thinks suddenly, and closes her eyes and hangs her head. It's too much. She will have to marry a prince and go far away and rule a country and somehow she has been counting on Lerant, the one person who truly cares (even a little) about her. Not her duty or her crown or her parents or anything, her.

With her closed eyes, it is dark and she can imagine none of this is happening – but it is, and she can still hear Raoul talking so she opens her eyes (what's the point of pretending?) but she does not look up.

"-and princesses-"

"Wait, what?" That's Lerant, she's sure.

She focuses on Heiress's mane.

Raoul's tone is slow and confused. "What do you mean, what? She should know better, it's not like this is anything new…"

"No, I mean what do princesses have to do with it?"

He doesn't get it? Maybe she can save this- but Raoul's here. She glances up and meets Raoul's muchtooknowing gaze- and it's too late and she's sure he understands and Goddess.

"It's part of our job to keep you safe," he says, ignoring Lerant and looking straight at Lianne. "Don't make it more difficult than it needs to be." He whistles and the dazed members of Third Company shake themselves and back their horses into a more orderly formation.

"Right," she says, still avoiding Lerant's penetrating look, "I'll see you at the ball then," she adds, and he snorts.

"Of course, your highness," he says mockingly, and sweeps a bow from atop Drum. He freezes for an instant on his way up. Goddess indeed.

"Highness?" Lerant echoes quietly. She adds a string of colorful (very unprincessly) curses in her mind.

Raoul sends Lianne a pointed look and rides past. As he passes he leans toward her and says quietly, "Take all the time you need." He continues toward Corus and most of the company follows, some of them unabashedly gaping at Lianne and Lerant, including a dark-haired man she recognizes as a Masbolle.

"So," he starts.

"Lerant, please don't-" she is abruptly frantic and there is a lump in her throat and her eyes are stinging. She can't continue this (you are betrothed, remember that you must do your dutydutyduty Lianne) but she doesn't want to (can't) lose Lerant's regard or his respect.

He sighs. "Look at me."

She does. She can't read his face at all.

"You said once," he says, and swallows hard. "You said once that you thought people were people, and that family shouldn't change perceptions."

"Yes," she agrees. What is he trying to say?

"Do you still feel that way?" he asks.

"Of course I do. Er- why?"

"Because I'm not one to judge you," he says flatly. "It would be hypocritical of me to be angry. I didn't tell you anything about me either."

"What do you mean?" She is suddenly petrified that he is married. Call it paranoid, but wouldn't it be just like everything else in her life? Almost (almostalmost) perfect?

"I'm Lerant of Eldorne. Delia is my aunt."

"Oh." she says. Then she laughs. He gives her an are-you-crazy look as she doubles over on Heiress's saddle.

"What's funny?" he asks suspiciously.

"It's just," she giggles, "I wish I could visit Delia in prison, just to see her face when she hears this."

He snorts. "Yes, I'm living the dream of a psychotic traitoress, being friends with Conte royalty…" he trails off. Right, she's a princess. Lianne immediately stops laughing. Betrothed. Yes.

"Lerant, there's something else you should know…"


	5. Don't Look Back

-:-

'Let's run away and don't ever look back  
Don't ever look back'

-Teenage Dream, Katy Perry

-:-

The country doesn't really need her, does it? Maren and Tortall are peaceful allies (cut from the same cloth, don't you know), and a marriage alliance isn't necessary. Besides, there's always Vania (beautiful, impetuous Vania).

But her parents know just as well that Vania would make a terrible queen. A queen must be wise and intelligent, beautiful and charismatic, diplomatic and polite, but loyal and fierce. A queen must be everything to everyone. A queen is the sun and the stars – unfailing, unchanging.

Perfectpolitemodestdutiful princess Lianne would be a marvelous queen, but Lianne would not (there is a difference, and she knows it even if her parents don't). She is dusk and she is daybreak, and she is too dark and too light (and much too shifting) for queenhood.

If she could get away from herself – from everything that being a princess entails – maybe she could do something different, something right for shifting, and darkness, and light all in one. But she knows, too, that the only way could easily end up being worse than staying, than letting her life be manipulated like sheep follow a shepherd. Losing everything she is and everything she has, for the sake of freedom, something has never known?

She would need a plan…

-:-

She tells Lerant everything, and he understands (just like she knew he would).

They stand for a while in the forest while their horses graze, and he holds her steady as she does not cry.

She does not cry, Mithros curse it.

Lianne cries.

When she gets a grip on herself, she looks in his eyes and says abruptly, "Have you ever thought about leaving?"

He makes a strangled sound. "What do you mean, leaving? Like running away? You're not planning to do that, are you? That would be so dangerous, Lianne-"

"Lerant," she says desperately. "I'm not saying I will. It's just- past these borders, no one knows my name, or if they do they don't care. Can you imagine what that would be like? If there was a way…"

He rubs his forehead.

Lianne continues, in a quieter voice. "I could save myself."

"I don't know," he finally answers. "I don't know if that's a good idea. I don't have much here, but you- could you leave your family and friends and your life behind? Never see them again? You're talking about losing everything."

"I'd miss them, you're right. But I wouldn't be losing my life, I'd be starting one. What I'm living now… this isn't mine. This is the Crown's, gods, this is Tortall's life, before it's mine!" she is shaking again.

He holds her shoulder clumsily. "Maybe someday it'll be different," he says, but words are just words and it will never, never happen, and only a fool would convince themselves otherwise.

-:-

They ride back to the palace. It is after noon, and Lianne at least must return for the celebratory ball for Midwinter and Liam's successful Ordeal (was it really that same day?).

She swings down from Heiress at the stables, and Lerant takes her reins. She smiles crookedly as she looks down at the muddied and torn skirts of her elaborate gown.

"I'll put your horse away if you want to go change for the ball," Lerant offers.

"Thanks," she says, and walks quickly away.

Her parents are gone from her doorway and she lets herself into her room. It is suitable for a princess, of course, large and luxuriously furnished, but the only things that mark it as hers (not Kally's, not Vania's) are the imprints of her heeled boots on the carpet and her sewing basket on the windowsill.

Changing into another gown and lacing herself tight, Lianne pauses by her wardrobe. She does have breeches and shirts, and plain dresses. Maybe…

She rummages through, finds a rucksack, and stuffs a few outfits into it. She sweeps a few pouches of coins and her signet ring in the outside pouches. Maybe the library would have a few maps, she thinks, and who would remark on dutiful, impeccable, charming Lianne taking a few out to study?

Just in case.

-:-

"Where have you been?" Liam hisses when she arrives at the royal table with a rush of perfume and her head thrust as high as Vania's (what a proud, proud princess you are, oh Lianne, where is your modesty now?).

"Out," Lianne says as she sits.

He glowers at her and opens his mouth but Jonathan shushes him with a hasty look at Lianne.

She watches the door. Nobles dressed in their finest tunics and bejeweled gowns pour in, chattering excitedly. The first Midwinter ball is always a big affair at the palace, and the celebration of another knight-prince escalates the whole thing momentously.

"Your highness."

A sweating courtier beams at her from below the dais.

"Would you care to dance?" the nobleman asks.

Lianne pauses. She feels her mouth curve up in a wry smile as she shakes her head firmly. "No, thank you, milord."

The courtier's eyebrows shoot up and his jaw drops slightly. How rude, how abominably rude! To refuse a simple dance, especially with one as high up in standing as he! He storms off and she can feel her family's eyes on her but she avoids them, smiling delicately at the tablecloth.

At last Liam elbows her. She stifles a yelp and looks up at him, fighting to control her features (Why, though? Oh, Lianne, you don't need to be a perfectpolitemodestdutiful princess anymore – you will be married and living in Maren by the end of the year.) Unless… but it doesn't matter, politeness is habit and politeness is her and she can't help but fall into the patterns she has kept all. these. years.

"What do you need, Liam?" she whispers.

He curses. "I need to know what's wrong with you! Are you taking poppy or something?" His voice gets steadily louder and now Vania is watching them with an intense calculating look on her striking features.

"Be quiet," she says. "You don't know what you're talking about. I'm not taking anything."

"Then why are you being so unreasonable?"

"I'm not the one who's unreasonable, Liam." She forces a smile – Jasson has joined the staring brigade, looking upset rather than manipulative (he hates strife, even as Vania relishes it).

Liam starts to say something further but is interrupted by a blushing blonde asking him to dance. He gives Lianne a pointed look as he agrees, but she keeps her fake smile pasted firmly on her face (she will keep her cool, even if she will not play the perfectpolitemodestdutiful princess any longer).

Vania slides smoothly into Liam's vacant seat, locking her eyes on Lianne's mostly impassive face.

"What was that?" she says abruptly, abandoning any pretense of polish.

"You know how Liam is," Lianne says.

"Obviously," Vania drawls, "but I meant you. What is going on, Lianne?"

Lianne drums her fingers on the tablecloth, glancing at their parents at the head of the table. "Their majesties have planned a marriage for me. Maren. They should announce it later this month."

Lianne can hear Vania's muffled gasp. "Oh. Oh, Lianne, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Vania may be hotheaded, but she is not blind and she has always had a nagging suspicion that maybe (just maybemaybemaybe) Lianne isn't quite a perfect little princess either.

Lianne meets Vania's eyes with a sad half-smile. "I know," she whispers, almost silently. "I know."

"But didn't they talk to you about it?" At Lianne's head shake, Vania's lips thin and her eyes flashblazeflare. Her voice increases in volume. "But Kally got to-"

"I know," Lianne repeats, gesturing for Vania to quiet down. "Father says that Kally and he had an agreement. With Kally's wanting to be a knight, remember?"

"But that means I…" Vania trails off with a harsh look in Jonathan's direction. "We'll be having words," she promises Lianne. "That's not fair at all."

"Life isn't."

-:-

What is she doing?

Lerant stares incredulously at a smirking Lianne as she nears their table. Adrienn doesn't seem to notice the approaching princess and chatters obviously to the Lady Margarry (seated once again by the Eldornes – what has the young conservative's daughter done to be scorned&disregarded so?).

"Excuse me," Lianne says from behind the ladies, her mouth twitching to a smile when Adrienn yelps and nearly falls off the seat. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

Adrienn gapes soundlessly at her (whatever respect Adrienn gets is from noblemen, even she can recognize that – she is not as naïve as Lerant believes her to be – and definitely not from the daughter of the man most wronged by her family).

Margarry cuts in effortlessly. "Of course, your highness," with a respectful nod. Lerant's grandfather beside him gives Lianne a haughty look but repeats the nod.

Lianne's slight smile stretches into a grin as she slides beside Adrienn. "Hey, Lerant," she says. "This is your sister?"

Lerant is sure more jaws fall. He nods with a soft exhale. "Yeah. Adrienn of Eldorne, Lianne of Conte." His sister is still gawping, so he kicks her gently under the table and she recovers (such a starstruck girl, that one, intimidated but thrilled by the famous and the talented).

"It's a great pleasure to meet you, your princess-ship," Adrienn says earnestly. Lerant can't contain a laugh and Lianne sends him a mock glare while suppressing her own laughter.

"Lianne is fine," she assures the younger girl, nodding at Margarry as well. "How are you finding the ball so far?"

"Lousy," Lerant's grandfather interjects. Adrienn sends Lerant a panicked look. He puts his face in his hands. Trust Grandfather Eldorne to make such a comment to the hosting family (even if it was the family who had wronged the Eldornes, they are also royaltymonarchssovereigns and Lerant is sure that they could be much less merciful if they chose).

Luckily it is Lianne (not the king or Prince Liam or Princess Vania), and her only reaction is a saccharine smile and carefully chosen words.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps a dance would cheer you up."

Oh gods. She didn't just say that, did she? Lerant peeks through his fingers and sees a roguishly (very unprincessly) grinning Lianne, extending an arm to his horrified grandfather. Lerant can tell Grandfather Eldorne is trying to think of a not unpardonably offensive way to decline- but there isn't one and everyone knows it.

Lerant decides to save the day (what a hero you are, my boy, like that time you took an arrow for milord Raoul- it's too bad you are traitor's spawn).

"I'd be happy to escort you if you cared to dance, Lianne," he says quickly, standing. She sends him a scowl but he can see her dancing eyes.

With a heavy sigh- "Very well. Some other time, Lord Eldorne? And it was lovely to meet you, Lady Adrienn, and to see you, Lady Margarry." She elegantly bypasses the table and pulls him along with her to join in the dancing (at least he knows the steps to this one).

"That was cruel," he murmurs. "You almost gave him a heart attack, a pretty young thing like you."

She laughs as he twirls her out and back into his arms. "Lucky he has such a dashing champion then. I'm jealous."

He attempts a stern frown but he can't help but grin at her wide smile and crinkled eyes and scrunched nose. "You should be."

-:-

Four dances pass, and Lianne gleefully declines the polite overtures made by other noblemen, to their bafflement- why would she dance with an Eldorne (hatedtraitorlockedaway) over them? Never mind that Lerant is a member of the King's Own, not a spy or anything even remotely suspicious.

She glimpses a seething Liam dancing slowly with Rose, who is trying desperately to distract him, and smirks into Lerant's shoulder. She's positive she has created a commotion with her sudden heavy preference (in the past she has been sure to distribute dances equally and impartially as a perfectpolitemodestdutiful princess should, but never mind that, she will do what she wants now- she will be gone soon no matter what she does). Speaking of which…

"So what do you think?" she whispers in Lerant's ear.

He starts and gives her a puzzled look, "About what?" before his eyes widen and he looks away.

"I still don't know. It's not- Lianne, that's probably treason. You'd get away with it, I'm sure, but I'd know, and if they found out I knew…"

"I wouldn't let anything happen to you," she insists quietly. At his raised brow- "I wouldn't. And if I planned it, no one would ever find me unless I wanted to be found."

"I just think you should wait. See what happens. What if this Marenite prince is perfect and you miss out on a true love? Like your parents'?"

Lianne snorts. "That's not all it's said to be," she points out. The dance steps change beats and they speed up, Lianne's skirts lifting to show her ankles. "And besides, I doubt I'll fall in love with him. He's twice my age and a staunch conservative. He probably won't even let me ride at all, except maybe side-saddle."

"Is that important to you?" Lerant asks.

"I suppose." She tips her head. "It's more symbolic, really. Because I've never had much freedom or choice, and riding is mine." (but nothing will be yours forever- oh Lianne, don't you know that dutydutyduty will always come first, before everything? Don't get too attached to anythinganyoneatall)

He's struggling to find something to say, but he has nothing, so she simply smiles at him and they dance.

-:-


	6. Tearing You Apart

**Disclaimer: The world and characters of Tortall belong to Tamora Pierce, not to me.  
Edited and reposted 10/22/12.**

"You're so heavy  
You're so misunderstood  
And I spent all my wishes  
Wishing times were good"

-Soul, Matchbox 20

She gives Lerant a subtle smile and flicks her eyes toward her stunned parents, as she and Lerant dance the last number of the evening. (Who knew Lianne, ladylike little Lianne, would enjoy scandalizing the court as much as Vania ever did?)

"So, did you have fun shocking everyone with… us?" Lerant says, gesturing between them and nearly falling over in his effort to keep his feet in step with Lianne's.

"Oh yes," Lianne says with a wry smile. "The best ball I've ever been to, and that includes the one where Liam got in serious trouble for dumping a meat platter on my head."

Her eyes crinkle and Lerant chokes on his laughter. "What did you do?"

Lianne fluidly guides him through a lock step. "I smiled like the three year old old lady I was and watched our nursemaid scold him for days. And on top of that, I got a new dress since mine was ruined. It was excellent."

Lerant's laughter is interrupted by a strong tap on his shoulder and a glimpse of Lianne's surprised face. He turns, standing in front of Lianne.

Prince Roald is standing there, an inscrutable look on his strong features. "Excuse me."

"May I help you?" Lerant says.

"I'd like to speak to my sister," Roald says with a tight-lipped smile.

Lerant looks back raises his eyebrows at Lianne. She bites her lip and shrugs. (Isn't Roald the one she likes the most? She should be safe, then, it should be fine.)

"Very well," he says reluctantly, releasing her. He bows to the prince, who offers a nod in return. Lerant puts on his haughtiest look and avoids other nobles' gazes as he walks away, resisting the urge to look back and check on Lianne (but everything will be all right, says the voice that sounds just like her).

-:-

"Did you need something?" Lianne says in a high, shaky voice – not that anyone would normally notice, but Roald is even more reserved that she is, and if he can't tell when she is hiding something, who can?

"What are you doing?" he says quietly.

"I don't know what you mean-" The ball is ending, and there is a rush to leave, but Roald holds his ground and looks at her.

"Yes, you do," he says (and the disappointment in his eyes is the worst thing she thinks she has ever seen, because this is her Roald, who always knows what's right). "You're not acting proper at all. This behavior doesn't suit you, Lianne. Why are you trying to be Vania?"

And that hurts, that hurts so much she takes a step back (so if she's not proper, she's not herself? Oh Lianne, oh Lianne, this is Roald, who always knows what's right, but he's wrong, he's so wrong, he must be, and his face blurs and there are _no_ tears in her eyes, by Mithros) and she stares at him.

"No," she says.

He blinks. "Pardon?"

"No, you don't get to say that to me." She shakes her head.

"Say what? Lianne-"

"I'm sorry. I'm done." And she turns away from Roald (her oldest brother, her role model, who is just as fallible as she is, and it hurts). She pushes her way through the milling nobles and leaves the ballroom.

If Roald follows her, he does not follow closely. She navigates her way through the twisting palace hallways to her room in the Royal Wing (and Lerant will have to take care of himself, because she does not know where he has gone, and there is no way in the Divine Realms she is going to search for him this late at night).

Lianne lets herself in and collapses on the bed, jostling her sewing basket. She pulls herself up (with great effort) and sits at her desk to go through some maps.

There's Scanra, of course, in the north. Porbably not the best idea, since the war with Scanra has only just finished and the people are experiencing great poverty. Plus, it's cold there.

She pushes the Scanran map to the side and picks up Tusaine – it borders Tortall's east side, and wouldn't take that long to ride to. Then again, relations with Tusaine aren't great, so she would need a dispensation from the king – from her father – to travel there. (Not happening, oh Lianne, that would defeat the point of running away, are you as stupid as you look?) So she discards that map too.

She pauses in her shuffling of papers to look at Sarain, her mother's country. The current leader is supposedly a good one, a lowlander who married a full K'mir and tried to reunite the country. Nothing wrong with going there, per se, but it's much farther than the others so wouldn't be her first choice.

Tyra catches her eye and she untangles it from the pile. The small merchant nation is perfect for going unnoticed while still building a successful life. A road leads directly to the capital, and all she'd have to do is pass through the Great Southern Desert (which she's done before, but only traveling with her family or the Riders).

She traces the Great Road South with the tip of her finger. If she goes anywhere, it will be Tyra.

(She is Lianne of Conté, and she is always prepared – except when she's not.)

-:-

"Lianne!"

She shoots one last arrow at the target and looks around. At the other side of the practice courts, Lerant grins at her and she can barely see the flash of his teeth. Lianne slings her quiver over her back and runs over to him, only tripping over the end of her longbow twice.

"Good afternoon, milord," she says in her most prim voice, lasting only a few moments before giggling like a court lady.

He sweeps her a bow. "What is your pleasure, your highness?" His lips twitching, he adds, "I see you're practicing falling."

She makes a face. "Running with a bow is harder than it looks I'm sure you sword and spear types would fall too."

"Let's just see," he says, picking up the bow and nearly dropping it.

"Heavier than you expected?" she says.

"Well, the Own uses crossbows if anything!" He struggles to draw the bow and (with staggering effort) shoots at the target.

The arrow falls two feet short, and Lianne bursts into laughter. The look on his face is priceless – the tough, experienced soldier failing to shoot a target a _princess_ is able to – but she is no ordinary princess, as he already knows.

He huffs and goes to retrieve it, but she has already darted forward and recovered it for him. Lerant gives her a curious look, and she shrugs.

"That's what nice people do," she says. "They help their friends. And give them money! Here, see?" she pulls out a money pouch and holds it out to him with a wide (too wide) smile.

He pauses and looks sideways at her. "But you have another motive, don't you?" (Scheming little Lianne, all those politics made you more able to look past ethics than they give you credit for, but you are definitely not skilled in subtlety. Work on that.)

"So just because I want to be nice to you, I must have some other motive?" she says, gasping dramatically. Lianne slings an arm around him, and slips the bow from his grasp, replacing it with the pouch. "Don't you trust that I have only your happiness in mind?"

"No," he says with a snort, fingering the money through the cloth. "What do you want?"

She sighs and shakes her head. "So suspicious." At his rolled eyes, she sighs again. "Fine. Look, remember how I said it would be different if I left?"

"You mean if you ran away?"

She sighs a third time. "Yes, yes, if I ran away. That's not the point."

"Then what it is?" he says, tossing the pouch from hand to hand.

"The point _is, _I want to leave. I've planned it out, and I think I can do it. I have enough money, I have enough things, I have a horse, I know where I'm going. But I don't have a travel companion…" she trails off and bites her lip with a pointed look in his direction.

"You want me to run away with you," he repeats. "Are you crazy-"

"Yes!" she interjects, throwing her hands up and dropping her bow on the ground. "Yes, I'm crazy, if wanting my own life is crazy. It's not about being a princess, or a lady, or escaping a war-torn country, or wanting to be a knight, or anything anyone else ran away from. It's about being _me, _and it's about making at least part of my own decisions."

"That's kind of goes with being a princess," Lerant says. "Doesn't it?"

(No, no, no- well, yes.) "It shouldn't," she says firmly. "It wasn't like that for my older sister. I just want what the other Tortallans get, even the commoners." Lianne sweeps her arms around the courts and up toward the sky. "And I want that for you, too."

He considers. "Maybe."

"Right," she says, "let me know when you make a decision, since it's yours to make. One of the few that are." And she smiles weakly at him and hugs him before grabbing her bow and stalking out of the courts.

He stands there, with his hand over his face and his mind whirling, for a very long time.

(He may be an Eldorne, but he is not a traitor, and this is treason. Duty is duty is duty, but is his duty to Raoul more important than his duty to the Crown in general, and is his duty to either more important than Lianne?

And if it isn't, what then?)

-:-

It is daybreak, and Lianne opens her shutters and welcomes the rush of freezing air- at least she is fully awake now.

She turns and stares pensively at her pack and the maps she went over. (All that work for naught, darling – just like your mind – useless now. Because you wouldn't dare go alone, would you, you're not nearly brave enough, not like Kally, not like Aunt Alanna, not like your mother. You're just perfectpolitemodestdutiful Lianne, and you will marry into Maren and become a queen, and that should be what you want.)

And she sinks to the ground and she rests her head against the bottom of the windowsill, and lets the cold air brush the top of her hair (it's not what she wants). It's not and it won't be anytime soon and she doesn't want to marry someone thirty years older than her – and she certainly doesn't want to be a queen.

A knock on her door (more like a bang) and Lianne jumps, hitting her head on the sill. "Just a moment!" she says through gritted teeth.

She pulls open the door and comes face to face with Lerant. She steps back.

"Lerant?" she says.

"I-" (What is he thinking? He can't run away with her – she is a princess and so much more than he can ever deserve, not to mention it's treason. This will prove them all right, he knows –he is a traitor – but it's too late and he's made his decision.)

"Yes?"

"I want to go," he says, taking a deep breath.

Her head shoots up and her mouth stretches into a huge grin. "Really? That's great. It'll be great, you'll see! Let me get my things. We can stop by your rooms on our way."

He manages a weak smile in answer and waits as she flies around her room, grabbing papers and a bag and who knows what. She looks so exhilarated that he wants to smile too, so he does. (He ignores the treasontraitortreason voice in his head, just as Lianne ignores her dutydutyduty.)

-:-

(Oh Lianne, you're so far in over your head, you've already drowned. No return now, darling – just don't look back.)

They have supplies now (she has no idea what Lerant packed, and she doesn't ask) and they head to the stables. "Stefan!" she calls. There is no answer. "We're clear," she says to Lerant.

They tack up their horses (Lianne with her royal mount, Heiress, and Lerant with his second mount, for traveling rather than war) and leave.

Lerant and Lianne are on their way (southeast, to happiness, to anonymity, to what only the future can promise) and Lianne can't help but laugh with elation and throw her arms in the air.

It's the ending and it's the beginning, and it's dawn and they disappear behind the horizon on the Great Road South into the sunrise and they're gone and they're _free_.

Lianne knows what choice is now (and she leaves her duty, oh her duty, in a heap of dust on the road).

-:-


	7. Willing To Take The Risk

**Disclaimer: The world and characters of Tortall belong to Tamora Pierce, not to me.  
Edited and reposted 4/8/2012, with help from:  
sesquipedalian  
Eaglefire  
Elvensmith  
SteelSings  
Thanks to all!  
All of the previous chapters have been edited, with some scenes added, cut, or expanded on, but you should still be able to understand what's going on if you don't feel like rereading. Reviews are very much appreciated, and the eighth chapter is in the works now.  
**

-:-

"Will he... will he still remember me?  
Will he still love me even when he's free?  
Or will he go back to the place where he would choose the poison over me?"

-He Won't Go, Adele

-:-

Lianne has estimated the journey to be about a month. They stay close to the road for the most part, in out-of-the-way inns to avoid other travelers (Lianne's not sure what her parents have done about her disappearance, but she doesn't want to risk discovery until they cross the border- she imagines what it would be like to be found, to go back, and she is much more careful not to be seen.)

As they pass through the last few villages on the road south, Lianne purchases a white veil (Lerant has a burnoose from his uniform already), and they enter the Great Southern Desert proper.

A storm is brewing a few days later. The wind and sand whip around them, lifting their headwraps and causing their horses to stagger (keep your footing, now, it wouldn't do to lose horses in the middle of the desert).

"Lerant?" Lianne calls.

"What?" he yells back.

She taps her head with a shake of her head and slides off her horse, stumbling over to Lerant. "It's going to be a sandstorm. We need to find shelter."

"What? Are you sure it's not just wind? We're nowhere near Persopolis, where are we supposed to go?"

She pauses (The Bloody Hawk is nearby, isn't it? But the Bazhir report to the king- should she risk it?)

"I know somewhere we can go," she replies finally, leaning closer so she can be heard without yelling, "at least for shelter."

They ride through the speeding winds to the Bloody Hawk tribe.

"Halef Seif!" she cries out as they come into sight of tents and a few men packing up for the storm. Lianne dismounts and runs over to say hello. Lerant grabs her reins and leads both horses over to the group (Who are these people? He feels a bit left out- but there is so much about Lianne he does not know already- so it's not so bad.)

"We should get out of the storm," the man who must be Halef tells them, and helps Lerant put their horses inside. Halef leads Lianne into a tent (What kind of soldier are you, Lerant? Going into a possible hostile's home with the girl you should be protecting) and Lerant follows.

-:-

"So what brings you to the desert?" Halef asks Lianne.

She shrugs, seemingly casual. "Traveling," she says vaguely.

He is too sharp (Lianne has a horrible flashback to Uncle Raoul's muchtooknowing eyes, but she will not let information slip this time)."Who's this young man?"

"A friend," she says. Changing the subject, "May we stay at the Bloody Hawk until the sandstorm is over?"

"Of course, Princess. You are always welcome here. I'm sure Kara and Kourrem will want to speak with you as well."

Lianne jumps up and turns to Lerant, pulling him up and doing an odd dance. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the shamans. They're amazing, you'll see!"

Lerant laughs and gives Halef a respectful nod, and they go to see Lianne's friends.

Kara and Kourrem are happy to see Lianne, and they chatter contentedly and catch up (Lerant learns that Lianne spent weeks here as a child, and is practically one of them- how strange, how strange to learn so many new things about someone you've given up everything for and barely know- but Lerant is getting used to it). A few days later, when the sand is settled, Lerant and Lianne ride south again.

-:-

It is the early spring of 463 in the Eastern Lands, and Lianne and Lerant ride into the capital of Tyra. Their cloaks are splashed with mud and sand and their horses exhausted, but a lightly veiled Lianne jumps off her horse with vigor and twirls blissfully in a circle. (Free at last, free at last, she thanks the gods, she is free at last- she is a person now, and not a crown, or a ring, or a throne.)

"We made it!" she screams happily, disregarding the sideways glances from passerby. They look away as Lerant dismounts and pulls her into an embrace. Tyra is more conservative in many ways than Tortall, but Lianne could care less.

She's not a king's daughter here, and he is not a traitor's nephew, and their only duty here is to live (and _that_ is what you wanted to do, Lianne, are you happy now?).

They're in the capital to stay, and it's safe to do whatever they want- even if they're exposed, Lianne knows enough of diplomacy to recognize that Tortall couldn't do anything to them without Tyra's cooperation. (And why would Tyra cooperate? The only thing Princess Lianne is good for is marriage to Maren, and Tyra doesn't benefit from a stronger alliance between Tortall and Maren, quite the opposite.).

Lerant and Lianne go to rent a house with their new Tyran coins (exchanged from Lianne's gold nobles), and it's a little awkward (it isn't properappropriatedecorous at all for them to live together unmarried- but curse propriety, she's not a princess anymore, and she doesn't care what commoners think, anyhow.).

"I'm off to find the textile guild!" Lianne calls as Lerant moves their packs into their new home and stables their horses. "I'm going to see if they need an apprentice. Will you be all right here?"

He smiles at her and hefts her saddle off of Heiress. "Yes, of course. Don't you trust me to look after myself?" he teases.

"Not a chance," she replies with a wink. She rummages through their things for a newly bought basket and, with a last wave, heads down to the market square to look for work.

The middle-aged woman in charge of the guild hires Lianne as a textile apprentice, for ten copper Tyran coins a week - about five copper nobles in Tortall. Not much, but Lianne brought plenty with her and they won't run out for months, unless they handle their money poorly (but just in case, Lianne will work too).

She buys a few loaves of bread, a jug of milk, and a bit of mutton, and returns home to find their gear put away and Lerant waiting for her in the small house (and yes, yes, she reflects as he pulls her close, this is what she wants- right?).

-:-

It has been two months since Lianne left Corus, and Lerant has been hired as a guard at the Palace of the Ruling Council of Tyra (and Lianne is a scandal again).

She walks through the market square, and gossip falls over her as the spring rain does, dripping down her braided black hair and her plain weaver's dress and into her heart.

"That Lianne chit- has she no shame- unmarried! - textile guild- disgrace" and she tries, she tries to let the drops of conversation roll off of her like the (un)breakable girl she is (wants to be).

Lianne thinks of Kally, with her intense eyes- thinks of Vania, with her head held so high. She imitates that confidence, and the words fall under her feet where they belong (because she is just a little _better_ than these people, isn't she?- she feels ohso shallow and guilty when she thinks like this, but they deserve it, scorning her and Lerant for their own petty reasons.)

But then- but then- she hears it.

A speck, a fleck, of dialogue, and she slips under the tide, and the words splash around her.

"Did you hear about Sarain- the alliance with Tortall- Princess Vania- K'mir-?"

Lianne spins, searching for the source of the words desperately. There's a woman from the guild over there, a tall man by the jewelry stall who looks vaguely familiar, too many people she does not know.

Perhaps the people talking were the cluster of merchants- yes, that sounds right. She takes a moment to try to calm her trembling hands (oh Lianne, this is important- you were polite and perfect and refined all your life, but now you can't even stop shaking? Calm down.).

"Hello?" she says hesitantly.

One of the merchants gives her a brittle smile. "May I help you, madam?"

"Yes, I heard…" Lianne swallows. "Do you know what has happened with Sarain and Tortall?"

"You mean the new warlord?" says the woman.

"New warlord?" Lianne repeats. "What? What does that have to do with Tortall?"

The woman nods her head and leans closer. "_Zhir _Anduo, the son of the old lord. Before Ganadhar took over and tried to unite Sarain, the first _zhir _Anduo killed the Warlord, Adigun _jian_ Wilima. Before you would have been born, of course."

Lianne cannot process that for a moment, but when she does, she almost chokes. (Adigun _jian_ Wilima- Wilima. Her grandfather.) The woman gives her a searching look and Lianne clears her face and gestures at the woman to continue.

"So in any event, young _zhir _Anduo met with the leaders of all the major countries- Tyra, Tortall, Maren, Galla, you know. And the strange part is, he didn't seem to care all that much about border lines or hunting rights or those things that rulers always care about. But he wouldn't back down on a marriage agreement. He wants that young Princess Vania of Tortall."

"Vania?" Lianne says. "Are you sure it's Princess Vania?"

"Yes," says the woman, pursing her lips. "It'd be her or the Gallan princess, and everyone knows Galla is full of barbarians. The Tortallan princess is said to be a bit full of herself, but not a bad sort. Still a good deal too sweet for heartless _zhir _Anduo."

"What about…" Lianne licks her lips. "What about Princess Lianne?"

The woman gives her a blank stare. "Who?" her eyes light up with recognition after a moment. "Oh, the missing princess?"

Lianne nods slowly.

"No, no," says the lady with a flippant gesture, "even if they could find the girl, she's said to be much less beautiful as her younger sister, so the warlord likely wouldn't want her anyway."

Lianne's eyebrows shoot up despite herself (well, darling, if that's not ego-killing, what is?) "Thank you," she says with a strained smile, and excuses herself. She has to hurry to work- she is working on a big project with another apprentice, a rich jewel-tone tapestry for a Tyran silk merchant.

She will think about Vania later (someone needs to).

-:-


	8. Hauntingly Familiar

**Disclaimer: The world and characters of Tortall belong to Tamora Pierce, not to me.  
Well, here's the next chapter! Sorry for the delay. There might be another one, sad to say, since the next chapter is still unwritten, but it shouldn't be longer than a few weeks or at most a month.  
Feel free to drop me a line, tell me what you like or don't like. Story alerts and favorites are also appreciated. It's much nicer to write when you know someone's reading!**

"Just like the white winged dove  
Sings a song  
Sounds like she's singing"

-Edge of Seventeen, Stevie Nicks

-:-

She gets home late from the guild that night (working until your fingers bleed, little Lianne, not quite how you pictured back home in your muchtoolarge but muchtoosmall castle, is it?)

Lianne drops her bags by the door and collapses on the tiny bed next to Lerant. He is sitting with his back against the wall, reading a book. He looks up and she tells him about her encounter at the market.

"Are you all right?" he says awkwardly. Even knowing Lianne as he does, he's not the one to know what to say, and not for the first time, he envies Dom's easygoing charm and Queenscove's quick tongue.

She shakes her head. "I don't know," she murmurs. Lianne looks up at him, her face troubled. "Do you think we did the right thing?"

Setting his book aside to run his fingers through his hair, he says, "Are you happy?"

"I don't know," she repeats. Is she? "I thought…" she trails off, turning her head to stare out the small window by the bed, the stars sparkling high above them.

She thinks of her family (whatever they may have done, they are her family and she tries to push that to the back of her mind but she can't and the best parts of her childhood play in her mind over and over and over).

Do they miss her? Did Roald, Roald who is (was) so much like her (perfect&proper&polite), cry for her?

Did Liam let go of Rose long enough to notice she was gone?

Did Jasson make a joke to ease the tension?

Maybe Vania smiled (she is the only princess now, and she has all the attention), or maybe Vania raged (she is the only princess now, and she has all the responsibility), or maybe Vania wept (she is the only princess now, and maybe she needs a sister to help her get through this possible marriage to a dictator- she is still only sixteen, however she acts.).

And Lianne is so, so guilty (this isn't her fault; it isn't, but it is.).

"I thought it would be different," Lianne says. "I thought when I was gone and free and had no one- except you- I would forget them. I would be beyond it all and it wouldn't hurt anymore, and I wouldn't be as worried as I am."

"What are you worrying for, anyway? They can take care of themselves. Vania especially."

"But she's just a child. Should I have left her?" Her tone is more ragged, almost desperate (but oh Lianne, what are you desperate for? What do you want? You don't know anymore, do you?).

"Am I selfish?" she continues, and that uneven tone drops to almost a whisper on the last word, like she is afraid (ohsoafraid) of what she is saying, but it has to be said.

And finally- "What's happening to Vania- is it my fault?"

Lerant stares at her (he's hesitant, because he thinks he may just love this girl, and he was the one to start these thoughts in her brain, many weeks ago, when he accused her of running away). "Lianne," he starts, and then stops.

"What did the Lioness do, right before she brought your father the Dominion Jewel?" he says.

"Aunt Alanna? Got her shield and left. She went to the Bloody Hawk, as a matter of fact," Lianne answers. "Why-" but then she gets it and her eyes widen. "She ran away!" Lianne sits up and pushes him like she has made a great discovery.

He hesitates just a little before going on, "Your mother is Saren, isn't she?"

"Once. A usurper wanted to marry her because she was a princess, and she didn't want to be a pawn for the crown … she didn't want to be me. That's all it was."

Lianne's face twists and just for a moment, Lerant sees anguish distort her features, but then the emotion levels out and she's polite princess Lianne again.

"Right," he goes on. "You're not so different from them, Lianne, and if you're selfish, you're not the only one."

"But I'm not supposed to be," she says. She traces the cool wall by the window with the newly roughened pads of her fingers. She's supposed to be fair, and just, and wise, and treat everyone the same, because she's a princess and she should know better (but not act like she is better, even than commoners, oh no, she must be perfectpolitemodestdutiful Lianne, she must bear all of the burdens of royalty and reap none of the reward, because that's how it is-how it was.)

"I'm not supposed to be, but maybe I am," she closes her eyes. "You know, I was right. We could save ourselves, and we did." (And that's something Kally never did - maybe you aren't quite such a failure after all.)

"The real question is," she says, "How am I supposed to save Vania too?"

Lerant rubs his arm and sighs. "Maybe you should figure out what she needs to be saved _from_before you'll understand how to do it."

Lianne sighs too and leans her face against the window ledge, and the chill of the air pushing against her face is like a sharp word or a derisive glance, lingering on her skin much too long for comfort.

-:-

"Why did I go along with this?" Lerant says.

"Shh," Lianne says, waving at him distractedly.

"Why couldn't you just listen for gossip?" he whispers, looking furtively around the cold marble hall.

She makes an impatient sound and adjusts the ornament in her dark hair. "Gossip isn't reliable. Besides, you didn't have to come. I could go on my own."

"Sure you could," he rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just admit you need help sometimes?"

Lianne glares at him (she can do things on her own, too) and opens her mouth, but they're interrupted by a bored young clerk. "The Council will see you now."

She thanks the clerk and steps around Lerant into the domed room across the hallway. She needs to get more information, she needs to stop this marriage, she needs to convince Tyra that they shouldn't go along with the warlord, and this is her best bet.

She notices as she walks across the threshold that the Council room is furnished in the typical Tyran style- elaborate tapestries, arches, and plenty of tall vases. (It reminds her of the most lavish ballroom back at home, and perhaps that should tell her something, but she's so focused on her mission that it doesn't.)

Three people sit at the high table on the other side of the space. She hears Lerant's footsteps behind her and she approaches the Council, wiping her sweating hands on her plain gown (don't be nervous, Lianne dear, how many times have you addressed leaders? But this time you aren't a princess, of course, you are just Lianne and maybe that won't be enough.).

"Lianne, resident of the capital, apprentice to the textile guild- you wished to speak with us?" The middle member is a squat middle-aged man with a surprisingly crisp voice that reminds Lianne of her own father in his most kingly manner (focus, now, focus.)

She swallows and glances back at Lerant, who stares back at her (and she's been taught that you don't quarrel with your allies before a battle, but she didn't apply the principle and it's a little late now- she's going to have to figure this out herself.)

"Yes, Honored Committee. I am Lianne, and I have come to speak with you about a matter of the gravest importance. It's about the proposed alliance with Sarain-"

"And what gives _you _the authority to address us on this matter?" asks the blond hook-nosed man on the right.

She freezes. She's a princess, so she's experienced in diplomacy… but she can hardly say that. "I-I… I'm experienced with the culture, and have information about the leader, _zhir Anduo._" (What a lie, oh Lianne, but she has to try, for Vania, even if she fails in the end.)

The last man, on the right with hair as dark as her own, scoffs. "_Sure _you do, miss. Stop wasting our time with lies." He looks past her to Lerant. "You ought to control your wife, sir."

She gapes at them. "But-" she says.

The blond jerks his head toward the door with a barely concealed sneer.

(She has been dismissed and she doesn't know what to do now and no one ever said Lianne was determined, but she suddenly wishes she was.)

-:-

He watches her walk out with a straight back and dead eyes (and anger at her, anger at the Council, anger at everyone surges over him and he can't really separate it all)

Lerant glares at the Council trio and follows Lianne out of the domed room.

Seeing her shake slightly as she walks down the hall, his fists unclench and his shoulders droop (because what's the point in being so angry- he has no voice, no voice, and his anger bleeds into self-pity and regret). "It's going to be fine," he says quietly, but his words echo up and down the hall and she turns.

She looks blankly at him. "No, it won't. Vania will marry a dictator and have a horrible life and I will stay here and it will always be my fault."

She pushes open the door and they step into the spring sunshine.

"Stop blaming yourself," he says sharply. "Maybe you ran away, but you didn't make your parents promise Vania away. Besides, if you'd stayed, maybe it would have been you in Sarain."

Lianne shudders. "Oh, that makes me feel so much better," she says with a roll of her eyes (he has peripheral vision, thanks very much, and he's no stranger to being mocked).

And he's sick of this, but there's not really a choice, is there? He can't go back now, and it's not always like this- sometimes Lianne is sweet and loving and open and everything is perfect, and those are the times he left Corus for.

"We'll find something. I know you, and you will not give up." (and she won't, he knows, but sometimes he thinks she judges herself the most harshly of all).

Her boots click on the cobbles. She does not speak.

They walk home together in cold silence, and he shivers in the sunshine.

-:-

(Now what?)

Long after Lerant has fallen asleep, Lianne is crumpled on the sparse rug, curled up like she can fill the ache inside (but the only way how is something she cannot do, oh Lianne).

She can go back to Tortall, she knows, talk to her parents about Vania's engagement (not to mention her own), settle back in where she belongs - wouldn't it be oh so easy to go _home_, to see Roald and her mother smile at her and hear Jasson's jokes?

Even things she hated- Vania's tales of flirting, fighting with Liam, her father's stiff demeanor - she misses with that kind of stabbing pain that comes from knowing nothing will ever be the same (and that same was awful, stifling, controlled, but she knew what would happen, what people would say, what she would do, and there's a certain safety in that).

Maybe she wants that and maybe she doesn't, but it doesn't matter because she can't go back (to the way things were).

Lianne stands and leans over a sleeping Lerant to throw the shutters open. The frosty wind shocks her from her hazy half-awake state and she inhales sharply. Lerant just rolls over.

She can't just leave Lerant, throw him to the winds and hope he can fly. He isn't perfect either- he's not the richhandsomerighteous noble just as she's not the politemodestdutiful princess- but he's hers, even when they fight and they're both wrapped up in self-pity (like now).

So she needs to take him with her (but not to Tortall, nonono, she needs to go somewhere she can stop this).

People say that the best way to solve a problem is to go to its heart.

Lianne turns away from the window and pulls out the roll of maps she brought from Tortall.

She touches the curvy line of the border between Tortall and Tyra, following it up and right through Tusaine and Maren, until her finger touches the Great Road East.

It wouldn't be so hard to ride that.

And of course, the Great Road East, once she was on it, would take her into Sarain, and the road south from there leads to the capital.

Lianne smiles- she has a(nother) plan.

And this time nothing will go wrong (she'll make sure of it).


	9. The Things You Miss

The Things You Miss

"Baby, baby, baby,  
When all your love is gone  
Who will save me  
From all I'm up against out in this world?"  
-Bright Lights, Matchbox 20

-:-

TORTALL

Vania's smile is about to shatter.

She's tried everything- absolutely _everything-_to get this man to want her (and she's Vania, for Mithros' sake, she never has to try for anything!) and all he does is nod and agree and turn away.

"Maybe you didn't understand," she says, her long fingers lingering on his arm.

Dom looks back at her. A painful tingle creeps down her lower back at his drawn brows and frozen eyes.

"I understood perfectly," he says. "I don't think _you _understand what love is, what Kel and I have. I hope you learn someday."

She stands in the doorway and watches him walk away.

Lianne would have something to say (oh Vania, you can't always get what you want- this will be good for you).

And she clings to the doorframe (Lianne's not here, she's not here, please don't be dead Lianne) and Vania screams, scrabbling at the wood with her nails (something to hold onto, anything, anything, please).

When the guards come rushing down the hallway, she pretends she doesn't know what they're talking about- "Screams? I didn't hear anything."

Lianne would tell the truth, but Vania doesn't care.

She can't care, because caring will break her- shatter her into tiny, tiny pieces - and she has to keep it together.

It's only now - Lianne and Kalasin are gone and Roald is busy and the other two have never been responsible - only now that Vania realizes she's been pushing off her duty on anyone who'll take it. Only now does she have to shoulder it all by herself.

She wonders if her shoulders are too weak (but they can't be, because she can't break).

-:-

TYRA  
Lianne tells him in the morning, but Lerant is not as enthusiastic about her plan as she thought he'd be (or maybe hoped).

"Lianne," he says, standing from the bed. "You want to help Vania. But honestly, what would going to Sarain do? Don't you remember the Council?"

"Of course I remember the Council," Lianne says. "It was only yesterday. But I don't have another option. You can come with me, or you can stay."

He glares at her (what kind of choice is that?). "Or you can go back to Tortall, where you're a princess and actually have some _say_."

"Don't you know me at all?" she says. "I had no say then, and I wouldn't have any now! I am going to stop this, if I have to marry _zhir_Anduo myself." (Maybe if she says it enough, she'll start to believe it.)

"You won't," Lerant says, and the bittersweet words flow through his lips like cacao beans. "You won't because you're selfish, and you care more about yourself than Tortall, or Vania, or even me."

If she was a girl like Vania, she'd slap him, love be damned, but deep down Lianne is still the perfectpolitemodestdutiful princess (two steps forward, one step back- and she's trying so hard to be herself, but she's never tried before- how can she know who to be?)

"I am selfish," she repeats, and she feels strangely wonderful saying it. "But not as selfish as you think. Everyone has their breaking points. I'd hit mine and passed it when I met you."

His shoulders slump. "I know. I'm sorry I said-"

"I'm not done. I still love you, Lerant, and I hope it doesn't come to marrying Anduo to keep him away from Vania. Let's just go to Sarain." She picks up the maps again. "We'll figure it out from there."

He takes the one of Tyra with a weary hand. "And we have enough supplies?"

"I'll take care of it," she says.

"Do that, then," he says. "I'm going to work."

When he's gone, she falls back onto the carpet and hugs the maps to her chest (please work, plan).

-:-

Nobody plans like Lianne.

He reminds himself over and over on his quiet patrol- this is her specialty. This is her _skill_, far above fighting or riding or sewing or even diplomacy.

But he doubts her, just a little. Lerant crosses the street, tapping his baton on his knuckles.

Maybe more than a little. He does doubt her- what if she fails? What if it's all for nothing, what if she loses everything she's won? What if he _dies_ (dark dark treason- steal the princess)?

He could go back without her. He could go home to Eldorne (hatedtraitorlockedaway) and he'd hate it but he's done it before and he could do it again. He can leave if he wants to.

(Do you want to, Lerant?)

It gets dark much too quickly, but it's not a romantic dark, not a brooding dark for contemplation and internal struggle. It's just dark and most of the shops on his route are closing and it's much too quiet and he misses Tortall.

He begins his long walk back, trying to vain to capture that moment when Lianne left with him, trying to remember how it felt when he wanted something _more_.

And Lerant would never tell Lianne, but he doesn't care about Vania. Oh, yes, she's a princess, and a Tortallan, and he feels a remnant of loyalty to her, but she's not like Lianne. He wants to save Vania only because Lianne does (what is there to save her from, anyway? Lianne knows, but he doesn't).

Lerant checks in at the guardhouse and he goes home- with no idea what he'll say to Lianne when he gets there.

He slips into nightclothes immediately after walking through the door- he's exhausted (tiredfallinginthedark) and looking at Lianne's sleeping form just stirs the conflict in his heart, confusion and love and pain all rolled into one girl.

She's not the person he met in the city, not anymore, but he thinks he likes her better now- this not perfect not polite not modest not dutiful not princess- this woman with calloused fingers and eyes just a little bit hollow.

He abruptly realizes that he's watching her sleep and it's very strange, so he slides in beside her and pulls uselessly at the heavy blankets.

Lianne always hogs the covers.

-:-

It feels the same but different all at once- Lianne's youthful elation is gone and replaced by an almost grim determination (but Kally's the determined one, not you, oh Lianne). She has to do something, and at least she is not alone (and those memories don't really fade, do they?)

She packs their bags again, readies their horses, and she tries to be happy, she tries to remember how good it felt to escape (almost) everything and (almost) everyone and herself especially- - but all she can think is VaniaVaniaVania.

Something will happen in Sarain, it must, but she doesn't know what she wants to happen- Goddess, she doesn't even know what a happy ending _looks_ like, and even she can't plan out fate.

But she's still Lianne and she'll damn well try (Even if the world crashes downdowndown? Even if you lose everything you have left? Even if you have to do despicable things- and you will- even if?).

She looks over at Lerant and he smiles at her, a wide smile, and she can tell by his eyes that it's fake but at least he means well, at least he wants to give her hope, at least he _cares, _and oh she's glad she didn't leave him behind.

A knot tightens low in her stomach at just the thought, as she smiles a wide fake smile back at him (and it's just like old times, isn't it?).

She thinks, as they kick their horses into a trot, that the worst part of growing up is losing the lines, the sharpness, the single-mindedness of a child, of Vania.

Or maybe it's watching everybody run in circles, watching things change and promptly reverse- so many, too many, relapses- and knowing that it's (always been) that way and she's (always been) wrong.

-:-

It's a long ride north and she has time to think - there's only so much to talk about, after all.

(Vania doesn't love you, oh Lianne, family means nothing to her - she wouldn't do the same for you, and you know it, don't you? Why are you giving your freedom away?)

And she doesn't have an answer, not for questions like these. Family is family is family, and it's Vania, it's Vania, and they have to do this.

The wind picks up and she draws her cloak in closer, clutching Heiress' mane and the reins with the same hand. She glances over at Lerant, who looks deep in thought, like she was until a moment ago, and she wonders what he's thinking (oh Goddess, you don't know what you're doing, oh Lianne).

If only there was some way, some way to know what was really going on without going back- but no, no, her Gift has never been strong enough for any serious scrying, and they're much too far away for her to manage even a peek.

She digs the nails of her free hand into her palm- she has to keep calm, has to keep it together, can't fall can't break can't lose not now- and she takes a deep breath and forces a smile at Lerant when he looks back at her.

She has to hold on.

**Author's Notes: Sorry this took so long! I can't promise that the next one will come sooner, but hopefully it will. The more people reading, the  
**

**Thank you everyone who's read this, reviewed, alerted, and/or favorited! Also, thanks to the people who read/review/favorite my oneshots, since I can't thank you in those. Thanks to my betas, sesquipedalian and Eaglefire, although only the first part of this chapter has been betaed. :)**

**I love to hear from you and know if you're reading, so please leave a review or even set this to alerts. Thank you, and see you next chapter!  
**


	10. The Stormy Night

**Disclaimer: The world and characters of Tortall belong to Tamora Pierce, not to me. A/N at bottom.**

The Stormy Night

"When she was just a girl  
She expected the world  
But it flew away from her reach  
So she ran away in her sleep  
Dreamed of para- para- paradise"

-Paradise, Coldplay

Tyra is behind them.

Lerant and Lianne are days into Tusaine, the miles marked by grit and wind and the nights by mosquitoes in their bedrolls and silence so thick they're likely to choke. It's penetrated only by whispers of their deepest fears- "What if we die- what if we can't do this- what if they find out-" and the words treason&duty whirl in their heads like dust storms.

She counts the days- 1, 2, 3- but nothing happens, because she doesn't know how long they have and neither does Lerant. Lianne thinks he's still angry, biting her with silence and stiff shoulders. It can't- won't- affect her mission.

(But when it's all over, Lianne, where will the two of you be?)

"Lerant," she says one night. "Don't you think we can do this?"

"Do what?"

She looks at him incredulously. "Save Vania."

"How are we going to do that?"

And she doesn't really know.

The road follows closely to Tortall's border, and it makes her nervous, even though it shouldn't. She's been gone for months (what are the odds they are still looking for her so far out from Corus?).

They stop at an inn for the night when they approach one of the bigger towns on the border. When Lianne goes to stable their horses, Lerant grabs her arm to stop her.

"Lianne," he whispers, "is this- is it safe?"

"Of course," she says, giving him a bright (fake) smile. "Of course it is."

But the manager of the inn looks a little too long at them, and neither Lerant nor Lianne sleeps easily.

They almost make it out with an incident but unfortunately, almost isn't enough.

"Excuse me," the innkeeper says, and Lianne turns to face him with Heiress' reins already in her hand.

"Yes?" she says (don't let them hear that tremble in your voice).

"I know who you are," the innkeeper says. "The missing princess- the one from Tortall. Aren't you?"

She can hear her heart thudding in her ears thump thump thump and she's very aware that the wideness of her distinguishing eyes isn't helping anything and she has to speak but she can't say a word.

Lerant comes up behind her with his own horse. "Is everything all right?"

She looks back at him thump thump thump and she thinks he can probably see the panic in her eyes so she tries to calm down (breathe, breathe, remember who you are, as if you had any chance of forgetting).

"I don't suppose you can keep this to yourself?" Lianne says.

The innkeeper's eyes dart from Lianne to Lerant and back again. "No," he says, and there's just a trace of regret. "I got kids and a wife, and there's a hefty reward for news about your whereabouts, princess. Would change our whole lives, it would."

Lianne winces- there's a reward out for her?- and takes a step back, her hand on Heiress' neck. "I can hardly ask you to give that up," she says.

Lerant looks at her like she's gone insane (maybe she has).

"But," she continues, "surely there's a reward for just information about me, too?"

The innkeeper slowly nods.

"And," and now she shrugs, "if you didn't happen to catch me before I left… why, that wouldn't be your fault, would it? You'd still be entitled to that reward."

Both of the men look stupefied. She smiles and swings onto Heiress's back.

"Here." She digs in her pack momentarily and her fingers close on her signet ring (and it feels like so very long ago that she stood in her bedroom in Corus preparing to run away, but it really hasn't been more than a few months).

"Lianne-" Lerant starts to say, but she's already tossed the ring to the stunned innkeeper.

"Proof," she says. She salutes the man before kicking Heiress into a trot. Behind her, Lerant quickly mounts and follows, his mouth still slightly agape.

"Gods," he says as they ride northeast from the inn, "I never knew you could think on your feet like that."

"Neither did I."

-:-

"Okay," she says the next night, unrolling her maps on the ground by the fire (when this is over, she will never look at a map again). "We'll keep going through Tusaine, meet up with the Great Road East near Maren's border, follow it to Sarain, and head for the capital."

"And throw a party?" he drawls from his recline beside her.

"I don't appreciate the sarcasm," she says, pursing her lips. "We'll save my sister. And maybe Sarain, while we're at it."

"Now who's sarcastic?"

Lianne's sapphire eyes widen and her brows arch. "I'm serious."

"You can't be," he says. "Save Sarain? It's a country, Lianne. A country. Who do you think you are?"

"I'm Lianne of Conte," she says, glaring at him in the firelight. "And I'm sure that a little diplomacy will do Sarain wonders-"

"Diplomacy?" He's shouting now, and leaps to his feet to look down at her (she hates that, being beneath someone- a vestige of her noble days). "You think diplomacy will help _Sarain_? Thousands have died there, Lianne! You don't know…"

And his eyes, his eyes (those eyes that have seen things nobody should see) are dark with fury and she's just a little bit afraid- those are her family's eyes, staring into her from Corus, and even though she knows that can't be true, she can't speak.

Lerant continues, after a pause. "…you don't know, Lianne, what war is like. You watch from your castle and maybe you ride with the Ladies, but you haven't seen people when they're dying for their freedom, and they're _losing_.

You can't change that with a curtsey, or a smile, or a flicker of your Gift. You can't. Sarain was lost when _zhir_ Anduo overthrew their savior- Mithros, Sarain was lost when your sister's namesake killed herself, and all that work Ganadhar did to patch it together- nothing in the end."

Her eyes shine with tears now (it's too much, it's too much). "Lerant, I- I know. I know, of course I know, but nothing can be hopeless. It's not impossible, it can't be-"

"But it is!" he shouts. "It is. It doesn't matter if you're a princess, or a Conte, or just a gods-cursed seamstress. It's impossible, and you're a fool to try. Keeping your sister from marrying a dictator? Brave, noble even. Don't cross that line between brave and stupid."

He's right, of course he's right. She doesn't want to look at the maps anymore.

"Yeah," she says quietly. "I know."

And that's all they say that night.

-:-

A few more days, and they're deep into Tusaine.

Lerant is asleep each night at dusk, as soon as they spread out their bedrolls, but Lianne sits awake for a much longer time, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. This particular night, she cannot sleep at all.

(Is she doing the right thing?)

She's thought it over, sure, she's thought it over so many times that it makes her sick just to imagine thinking it over more. She opens her pack from where she sits and stares at the hollow where her signet ring had rested, and she doubts.

The saddest part is that she has never wanted that ring, that she would have thrown it away in a heartbeat for freedom, for choice, for the chance to control her own life. But now she has and it's different than she thought it would be (everything always is, oh Lianne) and Lerant is right beside her but she is more alone than ever.

Maybe, she thinks, maybe duty is different too. Maybe she's supposed to think of herself first… but no, that's the opposite of duty. She doesn't know.

Lianne lies back again, the stars swimming in her vision- she won't cry, she won't, she hates to cry- and takes a shaky breath.

"Lianne?" Lerant whispers from her left.

"Yes," she says flatly.

There's a horrible, awkward silence and then Lerant sits up and touches her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

She shakes her head but it's dark so he probably he can't see it. "No," she says.

More silence much too much silence and the dark swallows them.

"I love you, Lia," he says.

She reaches up and squeezes his hand at an awkward angle. "I love you too."

"We'll be okay, you know," he whispers, and she doesn't believe him but she's not as alone.

-:-

A few more (1, 2, 3) and they meet up with the Great Road East, crossing right into Maren at dawn.

Lianne can't shake her bad feeling- she's messed up somewhere, something is wrongwrongwrong, it's all going to come crashing down- but nothing has stopped them yet and nothing will, because everything is riding on this.

"Lerant?"

He's walked over to the river to refill their waterskins, and he's been gone a while, and her heart is starting to beat faster.

"Lerant," she calls again, a pinch of desperation entering her voice. "What's going on?"

There is no answer and she leads Heiress in the direction of the river as the sun starts to peek over the hills. "Lerant!" she yells even more desperately.

She tugs Heiress into a trot as she starts to run, her boots digging into the damp grass. She reaches the riverbank and skids to a stop just in time, with Heiress just behind her.

"Where are you?" Lianne screams and drops to her knees.

She sees a flash of movement in the trees, but even as she rises, a horse steps out.

It's Lerant's.

His saddle and pack are gone.

"No," she says. "No! Goddess, why me?" Her voice rises to a scream again (this can't be happening, not after everything, and oh it's ironic that he's disappeared on her after she's disappeared on everyone else).

But she has been trained for this- for disaster, for everything falling apart- since birth. She's Lianne, and whether she's of Conte or not doesn't matter because she's still that perfectpolitemodestdutiful girl deep down.

Her duty right now is to find Lerant, and she's going to do that.

She gives a sharp nod to no one and swings back onto Heiress, struggling valiantly to school her thoughts (oh gods gods I'm alone so alone he said he wouldn't leave that he loved me where is he oh gods is this how my mother feels right now). There's a town near here, Mutare, right on the river- Lianne (and Lerant, but she's trying to keep her thoughts together still) passed it on the way. She just has to double back, ask around, find Lerant, save him, and this can't be impossible because it's been done.

Her father saved the Lioness, didn't he?

Didn't he?

**A/N: if you are worried about the way the plot's going, don't worry, I've got it all planned out- not every detail, but enough so that there shouldn't be any loose ends by the story's conclusion, which won't be for a while.**

**Also, regarding the relationships of the characters. This is still very much a Lerant/Lianne story. But no relationship is perfect, and even if one could be, it wouldn't be this one. They're in very stressful situation for anyone, and they've got their own troubles besides.  
**

**Thanks to sesquipedalian and Eaglefire for betaing chapters 1-8. 9 and 10 haven't been looked over, so if you spot any errors, please let me know.  
**

**And finally (sorry for the A/N novel!), please review!  
**


	11. RedStained Sleeves

**Red-Stained Sleeves**

"My God, amazing how we got this far

It's like we're chasing all those stars"

-Secrets, OneRepublic

She rides Heiress to Mutare, numbness spreading down her arms and her ears ringing.

Because she is her mother's child, she thinks for a moment about leaving- turning her horse around and heading for Tyra, or even Tortall. Easy and quick and painless- well, that last one is a lie. But she is her father's child also and that side is stronger (and for the first time she thanks the Goddess it is). Her father would not leave a friend behind, much less in danger, even less someone he loved, and neither will she.

(But she did think about it, and she feels the guilt acutely enough through cracks in her numb body and keep it together, oh Lianne.) Chin up, shoulders back, smoldering eyes, and that's a princess riding into the village, don't you know? (nobody knows)

"Hello," Lianne says to a young woman she sees by a well. "Would you mind directing me to your headman?"

"Ay there, miss, we got no 'eadman, only 'is widow," the woman says in heavily accented Common, straightening up with a bucket in hand. "What d'ya want with 'er?"

"I need help… finding a friend," Lianne says. "Disappeared right after we crossed the border."

The woman raises her eyebrows. "On the Great Road Ayst?"

Lianne nods.

"I'll be," the young woman says. "I'll be takin' ya to the 'eadman's wife, see what she can do. I'm Minnie, then." She smiles at Lianne.

"Vania." The name slips past Lianne's lips before she thinks. It shocks her (to the core, if she still has one) but Minnie accepts it easily. It makes Lianne uncomfortable how easy she lies, now.

Minnie is speaking again. "Now then, 'ere she is. 'Ope it all goes well with yer friend!"

Lianne smiles and raises a hand in thanks (perfectpolitemodestdutifulpr incess) and a flash of memory runs through her as a shiver, head to toe. She enters the headman's wife's tent as the sun continues to rise (_he is daybreak, and she is dusk)_and she barely restrains herself from bobbing a curtsey. (regress, regress, oh Lianne)

They talk for a time, Lianne keeping to bare facts and fewlittlelies here and there. The headman's wife Thayet (and oh, oh, how that stings, even though Lianne knows it's a popular name nowadays) seems agreeable enough, but when Lianne suggests a search party-

"No," Thayet says, "we haven't the men t'spare from crops, or defendin' our own village."

(This is not your mother, this is not your mother, no, and this doesn't hurt so much)

"Very well," Lianne says in her coldest (Conte) voice. "If you'll excuse me-"

Thayet leans in right before Lianne rises. "Prisoners of the Daerdgar are kept in Winslow Castle."

And Lianne's head fills with swears and questions, but she voices nothing.

-:-

She leaves Lerant's horse at the village stable and goes for a little ride, with only vague directions from Minnie. So this is being alone, she thinks (this is what you wanted, Lianne). This is being alone, alone, alone, useless- this is nothing new to her.

Winslow Castle is large, gray stone and turrets and faintly reminiscent of Conte, but twisted and bent and curved into the shape of fear. It's the pitch of Vania's scream in Lianne's nightmares, and the deadness in Lerant's eyes.

(But Lerant is in there, Lianne, so keep going)

And she does. She shakes dust out of her plain skirts and approaches the castle. She must be Lianne of Tyra now- not a princess, not special, not modest because she has nothing to be modest about. (Should she be worried that the distinctions between her identities are starting to blur? Who is Lianne and who is Lianne and who is _she_?)

She approaches the castle and the path is hard packed and reminds her of the Corus roads, roads home that she can't- won't- take (or even think about). Alone, alone, alone, she walks, though servants and peasants in plain dresses bustle around her. For once she walks not to herself (freedom) or to Vania (duty) but to Lerant, who is maybe freedom and duty all in one, in a package that happens to be a person too- one that she loves.

The sun reaches its highest point just as she reaches the castle.

-:-

TORTALL  
"Your squad will be dispatched with the envoy to Sarain next week," Raoul says, fiddling with some papers on his desk.

Dom takes a step back and ruffles his hair. "Really, milord? I mean, thank you for the assignment- it'll be good to get out of Corus- but Sarain?"

"You'll be fine," Raoul says. "The fighting has died down, or at least I'm told it has. Princess Vania has to get there somehow, and I trust you."

Dom bows to hide his grimace (Vania still hasn't stopped chasing him, and it's honestly getting ridiculous, but that has no place in this discussion, does it?). "Yes, milord. Thank you."

Raoul flaps a hand. "Unless you're going to help with the paperwork, could you find Keladry?"

It will be a long trip, of that Dom is sure. It'll be good for him to get away from the palace, though, from most of Third Company and the memory of Lerant- where did he go, anyway? All Dom heard were crazy rumors like that he ran off with the _princess_, so Lerant probably just went back home.

(Dom misses the standard-bearer, even though he tries not to let it show.)

He exits the room still thinking and inelegantly slams into a body right outside the door. "What?" he gasps as they fall to the floor.

"Oh- Domitan- if you wanted me beneath you, you only had to ask," Vania says with a curved smile from the ground. Dom immediately scrambles up and presses his back to the wall and sincerely hopes Kel is not around (this girl just won't take a hint).

"We're going to be together for quite a long time on the way to Sarain," she says in a voice obviously intended to be seductive.

Dom bites his lip to avoid saying anything too nasty and pity mingles with disgust and sadness in his heart. "Just- behave yourself, Princess."

He leaves her on the floor, not looking back, but Lerant has left his mind completely.

-:-

MAREN  
It's taken quite a few bells for her to make her way downdowndown- just her, trying to be uninteresting, walking like she belongs there, like she has a home and knows where it is. She's used to being polite and invisible (and worthless and lost and nothing) but it works in her favor when she's a servant, thank the gods. She hears other servants talking (festival mop _Kalasin _wages bread) but Lianne doesn't stop because she can't.

She finds the place quickly- there is a guard in front of only one cell, after all- so she puts on her best don't-dare-bother-me-I'm-official expression and tries to enter.

"No one is allowed in, miss."

"Pardon?" she sniffs. "I-"

"I know who you are," the guard says. "I can't help you. Go upstairs and ask the higher-ups."

"I can give you anything you want," she says, and her voice is smooth as silk. She's definitely improved from that long ago time she tried to convince Lerant to leave with her. "Jewels, fame, women, anything. Your heart's desire, all for handing over a little piece of silver, that's all. Don't you have a family, think of them..."

"I can't let you in. My family has no place in the discussion." The guard does not budge, does not hesitate, and time is running out- the sun is already setting- and she doesn't care anymore (but she does).

And so Lianne stabs him and grabs the key.

She is not too numb to feel the blood on her hands and in her heart but oh gods it must sink in later because she doesn't have time for it now. She pushes the weight of the dying body to the side and she opens the cell door with a hand that is not trembling.

The numbness is cracked through by a spurt of pure agony before it seals itself up and Lianne can breathe again.

Lerant is not awake, but at least he is not dead (maybe it would be better if he was, she thinks somewhere deep down, but she doesn't want to think that). Shivers chase each other down her back as she takes one step forward, two, three, and reaches for him.

The blood crusted on his shirt hides the truth, but not for long.

"Arm," Lianne says. Her vision is a bit black around the edges and she feels like she did when she used to twirl with Vania until they fell down (and oh, that image is out of place here). There's a moan from him but no words. Lianne can feel her heart speed up or maybe slow down, who knows, and she touches his face lightly.

"Lianne," he murmurs, rolling his head. She can see his glazed eyes and this is so surreal, she thinks, so strange, like she is sinking out of her body and into the stone floors. She does not want to speak, only to gaze at him (the days without him have felt like so much longer) but her time is (probably) running out and they have to get out of here.

"Lerant," she says quietly, raggedly, brokenly, "come with me now, it's all right," and as he moves a bit and starts to shake and whimper, "I know it hurts, baby, I know, please." She helps him down the corridor, not looking (at all) at his arm- or lack of arm- who is this boy beside her? Certainly not Lerant, no, this must be a dream, this cannot be her Lerant with his floppy hair and haunted eyes and too true words (and strong arms to hold her tightly).

But it is Lerant, and she knows that it is, so she walks quickly through the shadows, up the stairs, and then they're out of the castle, finally.

She has a dark feeling in her stomach and she can only think that the Daerdgar, whoever or whatever it is, is not done with her.

-:-

They flee east and by night, they're camped and she is working on healing his injury. She's never been a good mage, even though healing is her strength, and besides even Aunt Alanna can't grow back an arm. All she can do is heal the infection, stop the sluggish bleeding, halt the pain, and pray like it will make a difference.

"I'm so, so sorry," she says plainly. "If you want to go home- go back, I mean- Tyra or Tortall or anywhere- I completely understand. Do you?"

Pause (thump thump thump) and for the first time, as she looks out at the horizon, she catches that impossible, liminal moment between dusk and night, yes and maybe, fear and denial.

"I will not leave you alone, not ever," he says and nothing more must be said and he wraps his arm around her shoulder and they don't acknowledge they're crying, but they are.

They still have a job to do, a girl to rescue, a country to save, and there will always be more, more, more to do, won't there? It's too much and she's finding that, in her heart at least, this was always about escaping that burden known as _duty_(she failed at failing, how pathetic is that?).

Lianne hiccups. "I killed a man today."

"I know," Lerant says.

"Aren't you- doesn't it- no, no, no, I couldn't. I'm not any better than them." Lianne turns her head into his uninjured shoulder.

"No, you aren't," he says firmly, and she looks up at him incredulously. "You aren't any better. You did what you had to do. It doesn't make it right but you did it. Let's focus on getting east."

"What did they do to you in there?" she says as she steps away to open their packs.

"It doesn't matter, Lianne," he says flatly.

"It does!" she starts to argue. "And- oh, all right." Her shoulders slump because he is injured and it's her fault and the least she can do is drop a matter he clearly doesn't want to talk about. He is so much like Roald that homesickness hits her (suddenharshohgods) again.

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," she says. "We're heading through a fairly large town, so be prepared."

He must nod because she doesn't hear anything after that. She rolls out her bedroll and finally, _finally _gets to sleep.

**Disclaimer: The world and characters of Tortall belong to Tamora Pierce, not to me.**

**AN: Well, that was a longer wait than I intended! Sorry about that. I decided to skip the cliffhanger this time- you've suffered enough. Reviews are lovely and be on the lookout for a new chapter sometime in the next month or two. I've started school, so it's unlikely updates will increase in speed, sorry.  
**


	12. Overthrown

**Overthrown**

"Noises, I play within my head  
Touch my own skin and hope that I'm still breathing  
And I think back to when my brother and my sister slept  
In an unlocked place... the only time I feel safe"

-Lights, Ellie Goulding

TORTALL  
Vania plans her entourage to Sarain with anger in mind.

"How about that HaMinch girl?" Vania says, lounging on a chaise in that classically arrogant way she's adapted from Liam.

"Which one?" Adrienn says with her pen poised to strike.

"Any, I don't care." Vania flaps a hand (stop trying so hard to be regal, darling, you know you'll never replace _her)_. "Add one of the Cavalls, too. The more conservatives, the better."

After- well, after- Vania befriended the sister of the man rumored to have played a part in Lianne's disappearance. It didn't take long for Vania to discover that Adrienn knew nothing about Lianne's whereabouts, but the girls were too close by then for Vania to care. They share a biting tongue and a love for the finer things in life (and a deep, trembling grief, but they don't talk about that). Vania counts herself lucky to have Adrienn on her side. The Eldorne girl certainly knows how to craft revenge.

"Any particular men, Princess?"

"Whoever's most inconvenient for Father to lose," Vania says with a bitter smile (oh, Vania, this won't get you anywhere in the end.)

But the voice in her head sounds like Lianne and Vania's too far gone to listen.

-:-

No one notices when he tries the door.

It opens easily, unlike the rest of the royal chambers. What's the point in locking it now?

Roald steps into the carpeted room. It's been months since he's set foot in this hallway, let alone this room, because the memories are too much.

The last time he saw her, he told her she was a disappointment.

All her belongings have been taken away already to the gods know where and it's just a reminder that everything's over (like when Kally left, but even worse). They're not children anymore. Kally is married and he is a father and Lianne is probably _dead_.

Roald clenches his fists tightly. He's controlled, controlled, and he doesn't cry never not ever no not even when he's alone, so alone.

(Lianne is a lot like you, Roald, isn't she, so if she's alive this must be something like how she feels. And it hurts, doesn't it hurt, that the first time you truly understand is after she's long gone.)

He sits on the bed heavily and kneads his fists against his forehead. He hasn't had much time to think about it but his parents are going crazy inside, he can tell. It makes more difference than he thought it would - whether Lianne ran away or was kidnapped or something else entirely, he means.

And if she ran away, why didn't she ask him to go with her? She's his little sister, she's _Lianne_, and he never realized how much she meant until now when there's just the four of them.

-:-

MAREN

Morning comes, however much Lianne wishes it never will.

And it's up, now, stay strong, it's just a bandage, unwrap breathe breathe heal wrap sit. She rummages in her pack for some bread and cheese and feeds it to a silent Lerant. The horses don't whinny or nicker or even paw - the world is in shock, Lianne thinks - and she can't stop shivering in the icy spring air.

"To the town?" he says when the silence is too much.

She nods and pauses - can she say it? She has to. "Can you ride?"

Lerant winces (he's a soldier, a soldier, and being handicapped is the worst worst thing for him to contemplate, but an arm isn't exactly replaceable). "I think so."

He can, sort of, so she ends up knotting his reins and putting them in his good hand. His balance is fine as always and they have to get out of this area as quickly as possible.

It occurs to her as they ride away (too slowly, too slowly) that maybe the gods don't like her very much anymore, and the evidence shows in the sudden downpour. Lerant curses but Lianne says nothing.

"How's your arm?" she says.

"Fine."

No emotion, no thoughts, no, keep riding.

Their horses slip and slide through the mud, heading east.

-:-

Whispers follow them as they ride through the town, and Lianne doesn't like it at all. She looks uneasily at the alleys, shadowed even at midday. Lerant looks straight ahead.

They stop for a meal, since they're running low on food but not on money. Lianne's currency is Tyran, but the waitress accepts it with only a raised eyebrow. Lianne and Lerant sit across from each other and slowly drink and the stark contrast between this and their first meeting hits them both so sharply that Lerant actually winces, and not because of the pain in his arm, whatever Lianne might think.

"It's getting late," she says, like she did so long before.

He smiles slightly and pain shines through his soldier's eyes. Rain drips down his cloak and onto the table.

She looks around and wonders what she can talk about and where and when and why and what in the Goddess' name she's doing.

"Did they talk to you in there? About you, or why you were there? Or anything that sounded like Daerdgar?" She watches her surroundings warily.

"No," he says flatly, the smile dripping away from his face with the rain. "Someone mentioned you, though. Something about the princess, and I don't think they meant Vania."

She shivers. "I don't know _why_." She doesn't know, she doesn't know, but she has to explain herself somehow. It's her fault Lerant's-

"Oh Goddess," she says and drops her too heavy head onto the table. "Why is this so hard?"

Lianne flicks her eyes up to his and they just look at each other and he almost says _we should have stayed back where we belong_but he doesn't because why, why, why. He doesn't know where they belong, anyway, any more than she does.

They eat their meal and they just keep going. He thinks he hears a yell when they ride out of the town, but he turns and there's no one there.

-:-

But he's Lerant of Eldorne and she's Lianne of Conte and they don't do things halfway, even this. The sun's barely moved across the sky since they left the village when a group of people on horses appear, riding quickly toward them on the Great Road East.

Lianne reaches for a dagger. He glances over at her questioningly.

"Where'd y'get that?" he says, tripping over his words in his haste.

"While ago. Heads up!"

The riders thunder around them, and when the dust clears, Lerant and Lianne are surrounded. Lerant curses.

"Declare yourselves and your intentions!" Lianne demands. The dagger in her hand glitters in the sun as brightly as her sapphire eyes, and just as dangerously, and just as beautifully.

Lerant shakes it off the bout of fancy and gives the people his best leave-us-alone glare.

One of the men laughs, high and mocking. "Oh, sweetheart, we will. Why don't you come with us for a little chat, first." It's obvious that he's not asking, but Lerant can tell from Lianne's face she is not going to stand for it (_enough_), no matter who these people are.

"Enough," and to his surprise, she says it out loud. "You are the Daerdgar." Her voice is flat and chilling and ohsodark (her father's voice, again, again, but colder because Lerant knows her and she doesn't speak like this to anyone, ever).

No one laughs this time and a different man removes his helmet to stare at Lianne. There's silence. One of the horses surrounding the pair paws the ground and Lianne doesn't lower her dagger. Lerant's palm is sweaty and he feels the loss of his arm acutely as he clings to the reins.

"Outsiders do not usually refer to us in those terms," the helmet-less man says at last. "But your statement is not untrue."

The dagger still isn't lowered and Lianne's expression doesn't change at all and Lerant's fear is building, building, building. These people aren't messing around and they've proved it, if they are the same people who took him and-

They're not messing around, but neither is Lianne.

"You kidnapped a man of standing," she says in that royal voice (a dead dead giveaway). "You crippled him, could have killed him. Unforgivable. I don't know what you want, but you cannot expect me to cooperate after that."

The helmet-less man hesitates, looks at the others, shakes his head.

(Lerant, don't shiver, no matter how cold it is outside, no matter how cold Lianne's voice is, remember that she's on your side, for always.)

"Just a few questions?" the man says, but this time he sounds doubtful.

"Ask them now and I'll consider it." She rolls her shoulders back to stretch her aching arms (but that dagger, that dagger) and cocks her head.

At her gesture, the people surround Lerant and Lianne abandon their posts to congregate around the helmet-less man. Lerant looks sideways over at Lianne but she isn't looking back. She's watching the Daerdgar with those focused, focused eyes. He decides to follow her example.

The man turns back. "Very well. Tell us of your purposes in our country."

(Blink, blink, what?)

"I- we're just passing through," Lianne says, "or we were, before my companion was kidnapped and _tortured_." She spits the word.

The helmetless man nods and makes another gesture. The group of men back their horses up and Lerant sends Lianne a questioning glance, but it's clear from her expression that she has no idea, either.

Then there's dust and Lerant and Lianne are alone (alone, alone, alone) in the cold breeze of the Maren foothills, and all they can hear is the pounding of their hearts and already distant hoofbeats.

-:-

**Disclaimed.**

**Sorry for the wait, again! I'm doing NaNoWriMo this year, so hopefully this update will tide you over until at least December. Thanks for reading and remember that reviews are always wonderful.  
**


	13. Coming Undone

**Disclaimer: The characters and world of Tortall (and surrounding countries) belong to Tamora Pierce, not to me. A/N at bottom.**

**Coming Undone**

"How you gonna ever find your place  
Running in an artificial pace  
Are they gonna find us lying face down in the sand  
So what the hell now, we've already been forever damned"

-Follow You Down, Gin Blossoms

TORTALL

Vania stands, shivering, by the bay, wrapping her cloak tightly around her and watching seamen load boxes and bags, furniture and gold and clothing, onto the ship. There's no need for horses, as there'll be mounts and packhorses meeting the company at the southern tip of Sarain.

Jasson and Liam's voices echo in her head from their tearful farewell this morning — _Are are you ready? Vania, are you ready ready are you ready? I'll miss you, Vania, will you miss us? Are you ready are you?_

(Of course you're not, Vania.)

Adrienn gently brushes Vania's arm and she turns to look at her friend. Adrienn just flicks her eyes to the right and Vania wets her lips and closes her eyes and then opens them, as her parents get closer and closer.

Thayet says "Vania," in that voice that's supposed to sound royal, but Vania is royal too and she knows it's only used to hide doubt and hesitation and sometimes fear.

And she doesn't answer.

Vania knows she'll regret it if she doesn't say good-bye, because what if she doesn't ever come back? What if she doesn't ever see her parents again? Or her brothers? Or her — but she doesn't have a sister to say good-bye to.

Jon and Thayet trade glances and shift feet and it's so awkward, so awkward, but Vania's as cold as the Emerald Ocean and she will not give them a word, because after everything she's given away and everything that's been taken from her, she has nothing left to give.

(Except her life, except her life, except her life.)

The spoiled little girl whines and paws in Vania's head but she shoves it down without mercy.

There's no time left to plot and plan, to say good-bye to her friends and pick her entourage. There is only time to go.

She boards the ship. Her companions lean against the railing and wave, or cry, or blow kisses, nobles and guards and servants alike. Vania knows who they are — Cavall, Masbolle, HaMinch — but she doesn't _know_ them, even Adrienn, like she knows Jasson and Liam and (once) Lianne.

She clenches her fists and tosses her hair and acts like the princess she is, but inside she seethes. What have they to cry about? They'll be returning home after her marriage, unlike she who will have no home at all.

When the ship leaves port, Vania watches the figures of her parents standing at the dock fade, and though she wonders about the blue sparkle of Jon's hands through the misty morning, she says nothing.

MAREN

Days of silence can get to a man.

Lerant's jaw aches with the effort not to yell and scream at Lianne, riding along like the world belongs to her. That insufferable pride, even when she's covered in dust, is making his skin itch. Oh, she's always been a princess, and he's always known that, but she was different back in Corus, back in Tyra.

(He can still feel his arm, in a distant way, but it's not there when he tries to grab for things.)

"Do you ever want to _explain_ what happened back there?" he spits harshly.

Her blue eyes cut to him across the road. "Like I know any more than you do," she says with disdain.

He makes an angry noise through his throat. "Lianne, I'm so tired of this. I'm missing an _arm_ and you're being cryptic and making secret deals with organizations. What are we even doing?"

"Something," she says, "we're doing something." There's silence and she shakes her head and says, "Please, please, just trust me."

He shakes his head too and looks down, but he doesn't argue anymore.

"Any special plans I should know about?" he says with a bite still in his voice. "Plots?"

She looks away. "All I know, you know."

So he has to trust her, of course, and he's not so good at that but he's trying, really he is. Pain he's pretty used to, suspicion and betrayal (although it's usually someone suspicious of _him_), but watching her avoid his eyes is something new. People who love each other aren't supposed to keep secrets. He hasn't had any secrets left in a long time.

"You're a lot like your father," he says.

She shudders. "I know. Listen... Lerant... I heard a rumor while I was in the castle." And that's true, isn't it? Isn't that true? She thinks it is. "It was something about Kalasin."

"Your other sister."

"I'm so worried about her-"

"Think of yourself, for once!" Lerant yells, clenching his fists over the reins. "Be worried for _you_! You're riding through the wilderness with a godscursed traitor and nothing, _nothing_, on a foolhardy mission to save a snotty little brat who just happens to be your sister!"

Her breaths are coming too fast and she's doubled over on her horse, but he doesn't stop.

"We're all going to die," he says. "You're going to have to face off with a dictator, and I know you know it! What's the point of freedom when we're just going to die anyway?"

"Don't - don't," she chokes. "I've got to _try_."

"What's all that confusion about the Darbar, or whatnot?" he demands. He sees her anguish - she's so fragile, so young, and she never lets him forget it - but he wants to unlatch her mouth so the truth can spill out and he can be in the loop for once in his life (he misses the Own).

"Daerdgar," she says. "I... don't know. I think _they_ think I'm in this deeper than I am. Or that I have some ulterior motive. I just want to keep my family safe."

"They didn't have the same concern for you." He's still digging into Lianne's little cracks. Maybe if she crumbles, she'll be able to build herself back up again. And he feels the loss of arm pretty keenly. He glances at her form across the dusty road. "'Sides, you do have an ulterior motive. Or weren't you serious about Sarain's struggles?"

"I was, but—"

Lianne's horse shies at a dead tree in the road, spilling her distracted rider, and that is the end of that conversation.

-:-

SARAIN

They've been in Sarain only two days and they're staying at an inn in a small village. She lies on the bed and stares at the ceiling. Lerant enters the room.

"A group of Saren rebels has a base in Maren," he says.

She chokes and flails her arms, trying to sit up. "What?" she says. "What?"

He grabs her and yanks her to her feet with his arm. "It's at Winslow Castle, apparently, near Mutare in Maren. Does that ring a bell, _Lia_?"

Lianne can't speak, so she falls to her knees and heaves instead. She wants to ask lots of things (how do you know this, who told you, what am I doing) but her mouth says, "What did they want with us, then?" to the dirt floor.

"You tell me."

She shakes her head, oh, she doesn't know. She doesn't know anything and it's so hopeless and she should just give up. So he relents and pulls her once more to her feet. He hands her clothing and she puts it on and they walk outside into the chill air.

"They think you're dead," he tells her when at last they stand alone.

All around her the hills sweep up and around, strangling her, shrinking her. It is beautiful and it is utterly alien. But Lianne isn't thinking about that; Lerant is.

"Who?" she says in a fastloudhigh voice. "The Daerdgar? Why? Am I? How?"

He shushes her and wraps his arm around her waist to bring her close (for comfort? Maybe, maybe not, and even so for whose?).

"No," he says. "Not the Daerdgar. Your family. I heard. I don't know who told them or what the person said or why, but your family thinks it's over. You died in Maren, or so I'm told."

"But I didn't."

"I know," he sighs. "Lianne. Vania's on her way. We have to ride fast if we want to beat her. Slower if you just want to meet her there."

She turns back and is again surrounded by the mountains. Sarain should suit her, really it should, but instead it highlights all the ways she is not Thayet. "Fast as we can without breaking our horses," she says grimly. "Does—does _she_ think I'm dead? If she's been travelling already?"

But he doesn't know. He puts his hand on her shoulder and she doesn't lean back against him but she doesn't shy away, either.

"Lianne—" he says, and changes his mind. "Let's go."

Just like that the innkeeper's paid and their bags packed and they're on the hard-packed road at a canter. Lianne's navigating with her sharp memory for detail and direction. Even so, it's a strange time for introspection, not that Lerant cares.

Lerant has come so far. Sometimes he wakes up at night and for a moment he thinks he's in his tent again, next to a snoring Wolset. Sometimes the world becomes suddenly clear around him and he realizes he's in TusaineMarenSarain on a wild goose chase, not riding aimlessly around the Eldorne hills. (Is that normal? To forget who you are? He hopes it is.) And of course there's his phantom arm — he can't believe he's not more angry about it, about Lianne keeping the truth about why it happened from him. Maybe he's in shock still. Maybe he's a better person than he used to be.

Lerant twines his hand tighter in the leather reins and follows Lianne to trot down a deer trail.

Who did he used to be, again?

-:-

**A/N: Really, there's no excuse for this wait. I'm so sorry. I'm still trying to work on this story! This is unbetaed because I didn't want you to have to wait any longer! Let me know if you see any errors. I finally fixed it so dashes will show up properly. Eventually I plan on going back to all the other chapters, because the- hyphen- is bothering me.**

**I love you all and I hope this chapter is okay, even if it wasn't worth the long wait!**


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